


A Smile and a Gun

by SilverWing15



Series: Clingy Duo has Made the Advancement: [Crime Family] [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe--Mafia, Criminal Masterminds, Dirty Crime Boys Taken Very Literally, Gen, Guns, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Of two super geniuses, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Past Child Abuse, Phil and Techno are Crime Besties, Phil is a Terrifying Dude, Phil is just all around Scary, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Sam my beloved, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Sleepy Bois Inc-centric, Swearing, TWs:, Techno is too, Tommy and Tubbo are Scary Smart, Uncle Crime, Wilbur is a Stressed (TM) single parent, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, so much swearing, wilbur is a good brother, with absolutely ZERO impulse control
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-27 10:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWing15/pseuds/SilverWing15
Summary: “You can go a long way with a smile. You can go a lot farther with a smile and a gun.”― Al Capone///It isn’t the sort of place you would look for a couple of high school kids smart enough to pull one over on an international crime organization. The apartment is cheap and it shows.But if you’re perceptive enough, you can look past the water stains and the cracked drywall. You can see evidence of a home vacated cleanly and efficiently. The evacuation is more orderly than most Phil has witnessed.Usually when someone hears he’s coming around, they storm through their house in a whirlwind, not caring for what they might leave scattered in their wake. This place is messy, sure, but its messy in the way one might expect that a house full of teenage boys would be.Phil picks his way past a jacket left discarded in the entryway and deeper into the apartment. There is a sagging couch with a stack of school books scattered on it.He flips open the cover of one, eyes trailing down the ‘distributed to’ list. There, at the very bottom is familiar handwriting. Tommy.Their thief.////AKA: Dream SMP Mafia AU with SBI bois
Relationships: Clingy Duo - Relationship, SBI - Relationship, Sam | Awesamdude & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Tommyinnit & Toby Smith | Tubbo, WIlbur Soot & TommyInnit & Tomy Smith |Tubbo, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Clingy Duo has Made the Advancement: [Crime Family] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216712
Comments: 269
Kudos: 948





	1. TommyInnit Has Made the Advancement: [The Folly Of Youth]

**Author's Note:**

> Its Finally Here fam, Mafia AU. I've said this so many times at this point but I am So Excited to get to show this one to you guys. I really like it, it was a Ton of fun to write and I'm honestly pretty proud of how it came out. A good bit of credit for it coming out at all is of course owed to MatleenaMaddie my writing buddy <3 Without whom I would probably still be stuck on a lot of shit. She is so great you guys go check out her stuff. 
> 
> This contains a lot of stuff about Mafias and Hacking even though I don't know much about either of those things and did No Research.¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ So Tubbo with his dyslexia *probably* should have difficulties with all they typing and shit in hacking but like...let's pretend that Sam made him a program that corrects shit for him or something idk. 
> 
> Dream is tagged but he shows up for like, one chapter don't worry. Mostly this is about SBI Crime Family Shenanigans. I can't really think of much else to say so, enjoy the chapter!

Tommy looks into the blood red eyes of the little statue. The thing is barely bigger than his hand and yet it was worth more than his weight in gold. Rich people are weird. Rich mafia people are even more weird. “If its so valuable,” he remarks idly, Tubbo hums, glancing away from his computer screen, “why is it so ugly?” 

Tubbo plants a hand on the wall, “sometimes...” he says, looking over his shoulder dramatically, “things that are expensive…are worse.” 

Tommy laughs, setting the statue on his bedside table. He sighs, stretching to rest his feet on Tubbo’s shoulders. They’re sitting on his bed, Tubbo is at the foot, sitting cross legged, typing away at his laptop and Tommy is at the head, lounging and letting his heartbeat slow down. 

Tubbo shrugs, slapping at Tommy’s feet. Tommy snickers and shoves his socks closer to Tubbo’s face. 

“Hey!” Tubbo yelps, leaning away, “gross! Do you ever change your socks?” 

“They’re black,” Tommy shrugs, chasing after Tubbo with them, “they don’t get dirty.” 

“Yes they fucking do,” Tubbo groans, shoving Tommy’s legs. “Quit distracting me, I’m trying to leave our message.” 

Tommy sits up, crawling to peek over Tubbo’s shoulder. The endless lines of computer code mean absolutely nothing to him. He could learn it if he tried, Tommy could learn pretty much anything if he tried, but he didn’t care to. He has Tubbo to do computer shit for him. 

“I left ‘em a note, why do you gotta do it again?” 

Tubbo rolls his eyes, “because they probably can’t even read your shit handwriting. And besides, we’ve got to show them a nice variety of skills.” 

“I dunno why we even want to get hired by these fuckers,” Tommy muses, “we could run a gang way better than them.” 

“They’re not running a gang, its a mafia.” 

“That’s just a different word for the same thing.” 

“No, a gang is just a little group, a mafia is like, a worldwide thing. They’ve got  _ connections _ , that’s what we want.” 

“I could connect to people.” 

“You are a highschool student.” 

“So are you!” 

“I’m not arguing that! That’s why I’m  _ doing this _ , duh!” 

“Well I’m the one that stole their fucking statue,” Tommy mutters.

“Idol.” 

“I’ll idol you in a minute.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense.” 

“You don’t make sense.” 

“Your face doesn’t make sense.” 

*** 

The gate doesn’t roll open for them as the car pulls up. Techno’s eyes meet Phil’s in the rearview mirror. They’re already flinty and calculating, he’s ducked down, pulling the pistol out of the lockbox on the floorboard and getting out of the line of fire all in one. 

It wouldn’t be the first time some idiot had tried to take out Phil at his own house. Techno glances around, looking for any obvious ambush or sniper. The longer they sit here idle the more chance of the enemy taking potshots, but they can’t flee blindly either. They aren’t rats to be shepherded through a maze to their death. 

There’s nothing. Techno glances to Phil again, there’s a hint of confusion on his face too, under the steely resolve. “Careful old friend,” Phil murmurs. 

Techno smiles grimly and gets out of the car. His hand hovers over the holster at his side, ready to draw and fire the minute he sees their enemies coming. 

Only their enemies don’t come. He approaches the gate cautiously, but there are still no shots, no shouts. A quick check of the control box shows no bomb or other booby trap. 

Cautiously, Techno relaxes. He looks back to Phil. He’s already climbing out of the car, his pistol still in hand, but held low, finger on the trigger guard. “Power go out or something?” 

“Could have,” Techno says, but he’s still suspicious. 

“Well, no use standing around out here,” Phil says, clapping Techno on the shoulder. “Let’s get in there and see what’s going on.” 

“Should we call for backup?” 

Phil pauses contemplatively. “No,” he says eventually, “let’s handle this quietly.” 

Techno grunts, but he sees what Phil is playing at. This isn’t some rookie ambush--if it is intentional sabotage and not just mechanical failure--whoever did this is a professional. Techno will be enough to protect Phil if someone is waiting inside for him, the mansion is equipped for this sort of thing with safe rooms aplenty if a meeting goes south. 

Better that they go in with confidence if someone has set up a business meeting for them. Calling in the cavalry will make them look weak, and in this world, looking weak is far more dangerous than actually being weak. 

Techno takes the lead, Phil strolling casually behind him, one hand in his pocket, the other still loosely holding his pistol. The door is locked, but that doesn’t mean much. Techno pushes it open carefully, but all of the lights are out. 

Maybe it was just a power outage. 

There’s no one waiting for them in the front rooms, the most likely spot for a prospective business partner wanting to impress them to wait. Techno quickly sweeps the rest of the rooms and returns to Phil, standing in the foyer. 

“House is empty,” he grunts, “must have been an outage.” 

Phil nods, frowning thoughtfully, “looks like.” 

“I’ll call the power company,” Techno sighs, gods he hates being on the phone with people, “see what the problem is.” 

Phil laughs, “I think I can guess that.” 

Techno looks up from his phone, Phil has a slip of paper in his hand. Techno narrows his eyes. Someone was in the house, then. He takes the paper. 

What kind of shit handwriting is this? Did a highschooler write this shit? 

**_"This is a ransom note from the awesome TnT! we got ur dumb statue and we will melt it. check ur emails"_ **

**_"PS- your house is ugly"_ **

Techno blinks, “statue--?” he looks up. 

Its  _ gone _ . 

A low growl rises out of his throat. They fucking  _ stole _ the blood idol. They stole  _ his _ blood idol. He’s going to kill whoever fucking dared. 

Phil lays a hand on his arm, “put your murder on hold,” he commands, and as gently as its said--with a hint of amusement around the words as well, it is a command--Techno grumbles, but they both know he’ll listen. “Reset the breaker, would you? I want to see the rest of this message.” 

Techno narrows his eyes at Phil, “you’re not going to hear them out.” 

“I might.” 

“No.” 

Phil grins, “its interesting, you’ve got to agree. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a ransom note for a statue before.” 

“Its an Idol,” Techno grumbles. 

“If you say so. We’ll get it back, don’t worry.” Phil says, sincerity in his voice, “I know how much it means to you. But I want them alive.” 

“For now.” 

“For now.” 

*** 

“I’m home,” Wilbur calls, shucking his jacket and tossing it over the back of the chair by the door. His keys go into the bowl on the seat and he kicks off his shoes underneath it. “Boys?” 

“In here!” Tommy calls. He and Tubbo are sitting on his bed, Tubbo’s on his laptop and Tommy is playing a game on the TV. 

“Is your homework done?” 

“Yes,” they answer in unison, not looking up. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright. Did you make anything for dinner?” 

“Some pizza rolls, there’s a few left if you want them,” Tommy says, still not looking away from the game. Wilbur sits on the bed between them, pulling the plate closer to himself.

The pizza rolls are cold by now, but he doesn’t care, shoving a few into his mouth as he watches Tommy mow down enemy after enemy. He swallows, “you guys do anything interesting today?” 

A split second of silence. 

Oh god. 

“No,” Tommy says too casually. 

“Not really,” Tubbo says at the same time, he’s closing tabs on his computer. Fuck. 

“What did you do?” 

“Why do you think we--” 

“ _ Tommy _ ,” Wilbur says sternly, “I know you both too well. What did you do this time and how much trouble are you going to get into because of it?” 

“No trouble,” Tubbo assures him, he sounds confident but that just makes Wilbur even more worried. “They won’t be able to find us.” 

_ Oh god. _

Wilbur puts his head in his hands. “ _ Who _ won’t be able to find you?” 

Another moment of silence. 

“Well. You know those guys,” Tommy says hesitantly, “that dad used to work for? We uh...stole something from them, and now we’re ransoming it back.” 

Wilbur’s heart stutters in his chest, skipping a beat and then making up for it by going into overdrive. “You didn’t,” he breathes, but he knows that they _ fucking did. _

Tommy and Tubbo exchange a look. 

God fucking damn it. 

“What did you--do you have  _ any idea _ how--” He runs a hand through his hair. They have to leave, they have to move.

He stands, pacing from one side of the cramped space of Tommy’s room to the other. Okay, think, think think. Just think. 

They can’t stay here, he didn’t even know that any of  _ them _ were  _ in _ this fucking city or they’d have never come here. God moving is going to be a bitch and a half. 

The apartment, the lease isn’t up for another two months but they’re sure as fuck not staying here that long. No way he could or would pony up the cash to pay all of it, guess he’s dodging that then. That’s fine, they should get new identities anyway. 

Fuck,  _ Tubbo _ , he’s got fucking parents and shit, they can’t just  _ kidnap him _ . They also can’t just  _ leave him _ though. God  _ damn _ these fucking kids. 

“Pack your stuff,” Wilbur commands, they can figure out the rest of the shit once they’ve put distance between them and the fucking  _ international hornet’s nest  _ that Tommy and Tubbo have just kicked. 

God damn it. 

“What the hell? No!” Tommy shouts, “we’re not packing shit, we just moved here!” 

“Yes!” Wilbur says, his voice high and hysterical, “we  _ did _ just get here, Tommy, I’m glad you noticed that! And now we have to  _ leave _ before whichever mafia grunt you pissed off sends a fucking  _ kill squad  _ for our heads.” 

Tommy and Tubbo stare at him, eyes wide, mouths open. This is the problem--this is the  _ fucking problem _ with putting terrifying intelligence in the hands of someone with  _ literally no impulse control.  _ They are capable of doing anything they put their heads to, but they don’t stop for one bloody second to consider the consequences of  _ actually doing it.  _

“They’re not gonna  _ find us _ ,” Tommy says, he sounds offended, like that’s the problem that they have right now. “We were careful.” 

“No!” Wilbur snaps, “if you were  _ careful _ you wouldn’t have done it in the  _ first place _ . Do you have  _ any fucking clue _ what these guys are capable of? Do you  _ know _ what they’ll do if they find us? Dad  _ betrayed them _ , they aren’t going to welcome us with tea and fucking  _ cookies _ , Tommy!” 

Tommy flinches back, fear and hurt in his eyes. Fuck. God damn it. Wilbur takes a deep breath, raking his hand through his hair again.  _ Calm.  _ He has to be calm. God knows Tommy’s been shouted at enough in his life. 

“I’m sorry--” he starts, but Tommy’s fear is already turning into defensive anger. 

“Well you could have fucking  _ mentioned  _ that shit, huh? You never fucking tell me anything about dad so how was I supposed to know? Besides, we’re not going to get fucking  _ caught _ , I’m not fucking stupid, Will.” His eyes flash with rage. 

Dad had always been on him about his smarts, insecure about having a kid with a hundred times the brain he’d ever have. Tommy’s always been touchy on that. 

“Tubbo and I know our fucking shit!” Tommy’s on his feet now, controller falling to the floor with a clatter. Tubbo is wincing, looking between them like he’s watching a tennis match. “We’re gonna use those fucking mafia shits and get goddamn rich! You’re not gonna stop us,  _ Will _ . If you try we’ll fucking--”

“Tommy,” Tubbo interjects, laying a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. 

Tommy breaks off, breathing hard, blinking away tears. 

Fuck, Wilbur fucked this up. Now he’s got both of the kids scared out of their goddamn minds and angry on top of it. Part of him thinks  _ good _ in a bitter sort of way, they  _ should  _ be scared. They did possibly the dumbest possible thing they could have done. 

But that voice sounds too much like their father, and Wilbur isn’t him. Isn’t going to be like him. 

“I know you’re not stupid,” Wilbur says, god he hates being the adult sometimes. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all.” Tommy is looking at him, trying to glare but Wilbur can see the hunger in his eyes to hear these words. Wilbur holds out a hand to him and Tommy steps in for a hug. 

“You’re not stupid, but this,” Wilbur takes a deep breath and curses internally when it shakes a bit, “this was a  _ dangerous  _ idea, Tommy. We have to fix this, if we can.” 

“We know it was dangerous,” Tubbo says, “we took precautions, there’s no way for them to find us. You know how good we are at covering our tracks Will.” 

They are good, better than the police can keep up with, god knows they’ve fucking tried. Certainly better than Wilbur can keep up with, god  _ fucking knows _ he tried for a long time. 

But the police aren’t  _ the goddamn mafia _ . 

Tubbo is tapping at his computer as Tommy pulls out of Wilbur’s embrace. His eyes are a little wet, but none of them are going to mention that. Tubbo hisses a breath between his teeth. “They’ve opened the message,” he says, “we can’t take it back now. The ball is rolling.” 

God damn it. 

“What did the message say?” 

Tommy and Tubbo exchange a glance, and then Tommy says “we pretty much just asked if they were up to doing business with us.” He shrugs, like its not a big deal that they are trying to get into the world that dad nearly died trying to get out of. 

Wilbur runs his hand over his face, “alright.” Fuck, what are they going to do? They have whatever the fuck it is the boys’ stole, the mafia  _ know _ that they have it. “We find a place to take the thing and arrange a drop in exchange for them leaving us alone.” 

It won’t work, they’ve stirred up the hornet’s nest now, there’ll be no calming them down, but giving back the statue--he can see it sitting on Tommy’s goddamn night stand, he knows for a  _ fact _ that they didn’t have something that ugly around here before--will buy them some time. 

“Give it back?” Tommy demands, “we stole it for a goddamn  _ reason _ , Wilbur.” 

“Tommy there are better ways to start a criminal empire,” Wilbur says, striving for patience. There have to be better ways, and surely if anyone could think of them it would be the kids sitting in front of him. 

“We’re at least getting money,” Tommy says stubbornly, “that was the whole fucking  _ point _ !” 

“What do you need money for?” Wilbur is almost afraid to ask, sure they don’t have a lot with practically all three of them living off of his salary. Tubbo has parents, but that’s more in theory than in practice, he’s over here more than he is at his own house. 

Tommy is silent, Tubbo is looking at him with a questioning sort of expression. 

God this is the start of some insane twenty step plan to become billionaires isn’t it? 

The only thing worse than the boys jumping into something without thinking through the next step is them  _ thinking through the next step.  _ Because then it becomes a truly monolithic scheme with more moving parts than most people can even consider. 

But Tubbo says: “we were getting it for you, so you don’t have to work.” 

These kids are going to be the goddamn death of him. 

“Boys,” Wilbur says, his voice is thick. He clears his throat, “you don’t have to do that for me. I’m fin--” 

“No you’re not!” Tommy snaps, “you think I don’t see you come in every day and collapsing in a heap? You think I don’t notice you eating after us all the time? You’re not that subtle, Will.” 

Fuck. 

“I can handle it. I’m the adult here, not you guys, its not your job--” 

“You’re my brother! It  _ is _ my job to look after you. That’s what you always said.” 

Wilbur wants to scream, or laugh, he can’t really tell which. How many times has he told Tommy that exact fucking thing. This is what he gets for working with a genius. 

“Its not supposed to work that way.” 

“Too fucking bad!” Tommy snaps, glaring at him, but its really more of a pout. It reminds Will of when he was younger, trying to convince Wilbur to let him come along to a job or something. 

“We have to cut our losses with this one,” Wilbur says, “you guys can...I don’t know, manipulate the stock market or something if you want to get money, okay?” 

“You said we weren’t allowed to do that,” Tubbo chimes in. 

“If you’ll give the statue back you can manipulate the stock market  _ once _ ,” Wilbur sighs. That’s the trick all the parenting books talked about, right? Compromise. 

The boys exchange grins, god he’s going to fucking regret that isn’t he? 

“Just don’t get caught.” 

“We never do,” Tommy and Tubbo say in unison. 

Wilbur ruffles their hair and pulls them both close for a hug. “I love you two, but please, for the sake of my heart, don’t do this again?” 

“Okay,” they murmur, subdued. 

Wilbur lets them go, and for a moment, they’re all smiling at each other like idiots. Then Tubbo’s eyes flick over to his laptop and the smile dies. 

“They replied.” 


	2. Philza has Made the Advancement: [On This, the Day my Daughter Is To Be Married]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you telling me,” Wilbur says, fighting to stay calm, “that someone who knows exactly who you are is not only working with the mafia, but they are now probably aware that you are the one behind this?”   
> On the screen, the cursor moves, spelling out three little letters.   
> Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the wonderful kind comments!! I'm seeing a lot of you guys come from tumblr and such, welcome! I'm glad everyone's been eager to read and I hope you enjoy the chapter! Its a p long one!

**_‘We would like to work with you,’_ ** the text on the computer screen says, ‘ **_consider this our application_ ** .’ 

Phil moves the cursor around the screen, but there’s no ‘X’ button, control, alt, delete does nothing. This is officially beyond his computer skills.

“Techno--” 

“I’m calling Sam,” Techno growls, storming away. 

Phil hums, eyeing the blinking text cursor, just waiting for him to write a reply. He will admit, whoever pulled this off is gutsy, they’ve tried to find clues about who it was, but their security was completely and utterly taken down. There’s not a trace of the intruders, physically. 

Maybe they made some mistakes in the computer side of things, but Phil isn’t so sure. This whole thing seems professional. 

All except for the note. 

Phil examines the scrap of paper, its one of those lined sheets, clearly ripped out of a notebook. The handwriting is terrible, the message itself is...juvenile. The text speak, the insult to their house. 

Maybe one of these people is young, or just immature. Obviously the note was a last second addition to the plan, or perhaps not even part of it at all. 

Interesting. 

Whoever they are, Phil is confident that Sam will be able to find them. There’s nobody better with computers than him. As soon as he arrives they’ll get their answers, and then they can track down whoever stole Techno’s statue--idol. 

Phil isn’t sure if they’ll let the thieves live, on the one hand, they do good work, on the other, it is an insult to the both of them to steal from them. That’s not the sort of people they want to hire. Theirs is a business of respect, of the careful maintaining of image. 

Letting an insult like this stand would be bad for business. 

Techno strolls back into the room, “Sam’s on his way.” 

Phil nods and settles in to wait. It won’t be long, they keep Sam close at hand. These aren’t the days of his grandfather, when the majority of their work could be accomplished via manpower. Nowadays everything was about computers, and that made Sam a valuable resource. 

Phil ensured that he was treated well, and that meant keeping him close and keeping him satisfied. Phil supports his passion projects, be that his gambling sites or teaching at some local highschool. Phil is good to those who are good to him. 

Sure enough, a knock comes from the door a few minutes later. Techno answers it and brings Sam with him to the computer. Phil is glad enough to leave the chair to let the master have his seat. 

“You know I told you not to press just any download button that’s on your screen,” Sam chides playfully. “That’s how you get viruses.” 

Techno snorts, but he’s still too furious about his idol to really laugh. 

Phil is less concerned, but he restrains himself to a slight smile because otherwise Techno will glower at him. 

Sam types, fingers flying over the keyboard, the black screen and message remain. “Ooh,” Sam mutters, “someone knows their shit.”

“We don’t need a review,” Techno grumbles, “just figure out who the fuck stole our shit and where they are so we can deal with them.” 

“Its not gonna be that easy, we’ll have to reply to them first. Make sure they’re connected before I try breaking in.” 

“Do it then.” 

Sam looks to him and Phil nods, “tell them we’re interested. That should get them on the line.” 

Sam types and they all wait with baited breath. 

**_We’re interested._ **

Finally, the cursor moves, and a new line of text appears. 

**_We will return the statue to you in exchange for leaving us in peace_**

“What kind of shit plan was this?” Techno snorts, “steal the idol to get immunity for stealing the idol?” 

“I’m not sure,” Phil mutters, frowning at the screen. 

“You still want me to look for them?” Sam asks, but he’s already pulling his laptop from his bag and plugging it into the PC. 

“Yes,” Techno says before Phil can, “they still stole my shit.” 

Phil doesn’t overturn the order so Sam continues pulling up programs, “If one of you would talk to them I can focus on this and we should have them in no time.” 

Techno takes a step forward, but Phil beats him to the chair that Sam vacates. “Phil--” Techno begins, but Phil gives him a look and he subsides with a sigh. 

“Threats won’t keep them on the line mate,” Phil chides. 

“You’re just curious,” Techno mutters. 

“That too.” 

Phil lays his fingers on the keys and starts his new message. 

**_You stole the statue and now you’re just going to give it back? We haven’t even discussed the nature of our arrangement._ **

“Huh,” Sam says, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “They’re really good, this’ll take me a bit, keep ‘em talking.” 

**_My associates acted without permission,_ ** the text reads, appearing one letter at a time one the screen  **_I desire nothing but peace between us._ **

Techno leans over the back of the chair, “interesting.” 

Phil hums agreement, pondering his answer. He was hoping to get a few answers from this, but all he’s getting are more questions. Just how many people were involved in this? At least two on the break in, going by the difference in the tone of the messages they sent, and now someone else. Possibly their leader. 

**_Ah,_ ** Phil types,  **_the young are so eager to jump headfirst into things, aren’t they?_ **

The cursor moves down a line and freezes there. Phil allows himself a satisfied smile, he’s sure that there’s no small amount of panic going on at the other computer. 

“Young?” Sam asks, his shoulders oddly tense. 

Phil holds out the scrap of paper to him, “they left a note in person as well as on the computer.” 

“Oh,” Sam says quietly. He turns back to the computer, typing furiously. “Uh oh,” He mutters a second later, “they’re onto me.” 

Phil is sure whatever is going on with Sam’s computer is very intense and interesting to someone who knows how the hell this shit works. Phil does not know how this shit works, he only sees a lot of jargon go flying past. 

Sam mutters curses at the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard. Phil and Techno exchange a look but don’t disturb him. 

Phil thinks that this is going on a lot longer than Sam’s usual ‘hacker battles’. Whoever these people are, they’re  _ good _ . He looks to Techno again, he’s frowning as well. This isn’t just a minor distraction anymore. 

Whoever these people are, they’re operating in  _ Phil’s _ city. 

Beside them, Sam suddenly mutters: “Tubbo?” 

“What’s a Tubbo?” Techno asks, leaning over Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam stiffens like Techno’s pulled a gun on him, his fingers are still on the keyboard, but now he’s hunched over it, like he’s hiding the screen. Phil narrows his eyes. 

Sam is silent for a long moment, “...no one. Nothing.” he says quietly.

Oh? 

Phil sits up, watching Sam carefully. He’s looking down at his hands, dancing nervously over the keys without actually pressing anything. Phil makes a motion to Techno and he steps closer. 

Techno’s hand lands on Sam’s shoulder, “are you sure about that?” he asks quietly, it makes the question no less menacing. 

Sam swallows, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“We’ve been friends for a long time, Sam,” Phil says, just as quiet, just as menacing, “good friends, haven’t we?” 

“Yes,” Sam whispers.

“And friends don’t lie to each other, do they?” 

“...No,” Sam’s voice is barely audible. He’s given up on pretending to type, sitting with his hands on the computer, he looks to Phil, his face conflicted, scared, desperate, what Phil would expect--if any of this was something that Phil would have expected. 

Sam  _ is _ a good friend, and has been for a long time. His loyalty is absolute, or so Phil thought. 

“So,” Phil says, “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t lie to me just now, and I’m going to ask you: Who’s Tubbo?” 

Sam is silent. 

How did Phil miss this? How long has Sam been working for these people? Did they target him or have they infested his organization this deeply? 

Was stealing the statue just the opening gambit to a much longer game? They’ll need to clean the ranks after this, always a messy business. More so when it involves friends. 

It will be tough, losing Sam. He’s a good guy, he was a good employee. 

Techno’s hand tightens on Sam’s shoulder. 

“He’s--” Sam cuts himself off, biting his lip so hard that Phil is surprised it doesn’t draw blood. Who  _ is _ this ‘Tubbo’ to earn such loyalty from Phil’s own men? 

How long has he been worming one of Phil’s friends away from his side? 

“He’s one of my students,” Sam confesses in a whisper. 

Phil blinks. 

Its not a lie, he knows what Sam looks like when he’s lying--or he thinks he does--if Sam is lying though, its an utterly ridiculous one. 

“Your what?” Techno asks, voicing Phil’s own thoughts. 

“Tubbo is one of my students,” Sam repeats, “from the highschool. He’s just a kid.” 

Phil tilts his head and motions for Techno to let go of Sam’s shoulder. Techno does and takes up position at Phil’s right hand. His rightful place. 

Sam carefully closes the lid of his laptop and looks at them both. 

“Go on,” Phil commands softly. 

Sam takes a deep breath, there is something pleading in his eyes. Phil doesn’t allow himself to soften. 

“He’s one of the kids in my after school group,” Sam begins, “a real genius, him and--” he hesitates, but Phil’s gaze is unrelenting, “him and his friend. Smarter than anyone else I’ve ever met.” 

“You’re trying to tell me that a couple of high school kids from some shitty backwater district not only found our house, successfully broke in,  _ stole _ one of my most prized possessions, and then trounced your ass in whatever weird hacker battle you had going on there?” 

Sam nods mutely. 

“Huh.” 

Phil feels about the same. Its a ludicrous story, too ludicrous to be a lie. So it has to be the truth. It is an utterly ludicrous truth. 

They’ve gotten their metaphorical asses handed to them by a couple of high schoolers. 

At least it explains the note. 

“Their names,” Techno commands. 

Sam turns pleading eyes to Phil. He knows them too well, he knows that Phil is the only one who can override Techno, and he knows that Phil does his best to keep kids out of the line of fire. 

But these kids have flung themselves headlong into it. And besides, he is still very curious about them. Even more so now. 

“We won’t hurt them,” Phil promises softly. 

Techno shoots him a look but doesn’t argue, even if Phil didn’t forbid it he wouldn’t hurt a couple of kids. No matter what they stole from him. Threaten them? Certainly. 

But he won’t hurt them even without an order not to. Sam knows that, and so he opens his mouth and he tells them what they want to know. 

*** 

“Bastard,” Tubbo whispers viciously at the laptop. He’s crawled halfway into Wilbur’s lap, his fingers typing furiously. 

It has all gone so bad so quickly. Even taking into account the already high level of bad in the situation when Wilbur found out about it. One minute he’d been panicking about the guy on the other end figuring out that the boys were, well,  _ boys _ and then Tubbo was diving for the keyboard swearing up a storm. 

Whoever the mafia guy has working for him, he’s fucking  _ good _ , apparently. Good enough to keep up with Tubbo, good enough to drive him to essentially a draw. 

“Let’s see what you think about  _ this _ ,” Tubbo mutters, pressing a few keys with a flourish. He turns and smiles over his shoulder, “its a trick Sam showed me, nobody’s getting past  _ that _ unless they--”

The laptop beeps and Tubbo whips back around to it, mouth gaping. “What the shit!” he hisses. “How in the fuck did this asshole--” the rest of the question disolves into frustrated grumbles as Tubbo works to keep ahead of the hacker. 

“There’s no way some rando-- Sam taught me that and he’s the only one--” Tubbo’s fingers freeze. Then he types three little letters onto the screen. 

**_Sam?_ **

The lines of text freeze for a long, long moment. Wilbur looks between Tubbo and the screen. 

“What the fuck is happening?” 

“I--” Tubbo swallows, looking back to him with wide eyes, “I think its Sam.” 

“Sam is a fucking high school teacher,” Tommy snaps, “there’s no way he works for the fucking mafia.” 

“Sam taught me that trick! He’s the only one who knows how to disable it!” Tubbo argues, “and if it  _ wasn’t _ Sam then why would he have stopped when I sent his name?” 

“Shit,” Tommy mutters. 

“Are you telling me,” Wilbur says, fighting to stay calm, “that someone who knows  _ exactly who you are _ is not only working with the mafia, but they are now probably  _ aware _ that you are the one behind this?” 

On the screen, the cursor moves, spelling out three little letters. 

**_Run._ **

“Go,” Wilbur says, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Pack. Now. Go!” 

He shoves the boy’s shoulders. They spring into action, dumping their stuff out of their school bags and shouting back and forth about things to bring. 

“Clothes, toiletries, essentials.” Wilbur snaps, “leave your phones.” 

If someone smart enough to be teaching  _ Tubbo _ tricks is hunting them, they’re not bringing GPS locators with them. 

The boys don’t argue, thankfully. Wilbur tears off towards his own room. He stuffs a few pairs of his favorite jeans and a couple t-shirts into a bag and then sweeps the apartment for anything else that might be useful. 

He only has a little cash in his wallet, they’ll need to hit an ATM and get all they can out of it. His cards will have to be left behind, unfortunately. 

He breaks into the cash stash hidden in the bottom of his dresser. Its not much, only a few hundred bucks all told, but he’s been saving for months. He stuffs all of it into the bag. Dad’s old watch, they can pawn it, he’d only kept it for an emergency like this. 

What else? What else? 

Food. They can save on stops and money. He sprints to the kitchen. All of the snacks in the cabinet go into a new bag, he fumbles a box of pop tarts, spilling them all over the floor and he realizes that his hands are shaking. 

No. Calm. He has to be calm. He’s prepared for this. He always knew that it was a possibility, that Dad’s past would catch up with them. He has a plan, he just has to follow the plan. 

Just follow the plan and hope that no one catches up with them. 

Tommy and Tubbo charge into the room, “we’re packed,” Tommy gasps, “what else?” 

“Get food,” Wilbur commands them. 

There’s one more thing he needs to get. 

His hands don’t shake when he digs the box out from under his bed, its beautiful. More expensive and fancy than anything else in the apartment probably, aside from the electronics. 

The only other thing he’d kept from their father. 

Wilbur opens the lid, the hinges squeak faintly. He hasn’t opened it in years. Not since the last time he was sitting on the floor of a bedroom, desperate, scared, but sure in his purpose. 

The gun isn’t a thing of beauty, despite how many times dad called it that, it is made to destroy, not create. He handles it with care, the way dad taught him to all those years ago. Wilbur pulls the gun from the imprinted foam, carefully loads the magazine and snaps it into place, with a final click, he engages the safety and stands. 

Tommy is in the doorway of his room, mouth open, clearly about to say something. “Is that dad’s?” he asks quietly. 

“Yes.” Wilbur says, tucking the gun into his waistband. 

“I thought he took it with him.” 

“Did you guys finish packing the food? We need to go.” 

“...yeah. We’re done. We got some other stuff too but I wasn’t sure how much would fit in the car.” 

“We’ll deal with it, gather stuff up. You and Tubbo are carrying everything.” 

Tommy opens his mouth to argue, but his eyes fall on the gun in Wilbur’s belt and he turns away. They both know that Wilbur can’t afford to be weighed down with bags. 

He goes first out of the apartment and down the stairs. Tommy and Tubbo keep behind him, whispering to each other. Wilbut doesn’t know what they’re planning but he’s sure its something. He peeks carefully out of the door to the building, there’s no strange cars on the street. No men with bulges in their clothes loitering on the corners. 

Its probably too soon for anyone to have made it to them, but better safe than sorry. Wilbur wards Tommy and Tubbo back with a hand and steps out onto the street. 

His hand hovers over his belt, but he knows that if there  _ is _ someone here he won’t have time to return fire. There is no bark of weapon’s fire. He motions Tommy and Tubbo to the car. 

They dart across the street as Wilbur presses the unlock button on his key fob. The bags go into the back and Tommy takes shotgun while Wilbur darts to the front seat and starts the car. 

The fuel tank is half empty, they’ll have to stop before long but right now all that matters is getting the  _ fuck _ out of this city. All that matters is keeping the boys safe. 

No matter the cost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title, of course, comes from The Godfather. I'm pretty sure I was legally obligated to make that reference at least once but I snuck in two just to be safe, the other one is later on


	3. Philza has Made the Advancement: [War Paint]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is also a laptop on the bed, screen blacked out but the lid is flipped up. Phil touches the mouse pad and just like he’d expected, a message appears.  
> Too late bitch  
> “Its a good thing they’re kids,” Techno mutters. There’s a smile playing at his lips though, one that definitely wouldn’t be there if they were dealing with adults here. This sort of insult would require quite the slow and painful death in retribution.  
> Image is everything.  
> But these are kids, and Phil is willing to let this sort of thing slide for kids.  
> Lucky for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a couple comments guessing that the boys' dad was Schlatt and the dude is never named and doesn't make an appearance but if you want to hc him as Schlatt feel more than free. 
> 
> Once again, thank you to everyone for the comments and kudos and bookmarks! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this story!
> 
> EDIT: wait, Maddie just reminded me that Schlatt shows up (ish) towards the end lmao, never mind he can't be their dad

It isn’t the sort of place you would look for a couple of high school kids smart enough to pull one over on an international crime organization. The apartment is cheap and it shows. 

But if you’re perceptive enough, you can look past the water stains and the cracked drywall. You can see evidence of a home vacated cleanly and efficiently. The evacuation is more orderly than most Phli has witnessed. 

Usually when someone hears he’s coming around, they storm through their house in a whirlwind, not caring for what they might leave scattered in their wake. This place is messy, sure, but its messy in the way one might expect that a house full of teenage boys would be. 

Phil picks his way past a jacket left discarded in the entryway and deeper into the apartment. There is a sagging couch with a stack of school books scattered on it. 

He flips open the cover of one, eyes trailing down the ‘distributed to’ list. There, at the very bottom is familiar handwriting. Tommy. 

Their thief. 

The other pile has books assigned to ‘Toby’. That’s both of the boys then, they must have left together, probably with their guardian, Tommy’s older brother, William or something. 

Phil can admire the man for keeping up with the kids this long, it can’t have been easy. And he admires the man for clearly being prepared to drop everything for them and run. 

Its is obvious, though, that the boys are running roughshod over him. 

Phil leaves the livingroom, glancing in the kitchen, a few cabinets are open and bare, only holding a few boxes of pasta. Smart, taking food along with them. Most people wouldn’t have thought of that. 

The bathroom is unremarkable, the medicine cabinet is empty, the toothbrush and toothpaste gone as well. Another thing most people forget. 

The door past the bathroom is partially closed, but Phil nudges it open as he steps in. The door sticks for a moment, oddly heavy, and then something wet cascades over him. 

He yelps--not the most dignified noise for a man of his stature and occupation--and scrambles deeper into the room on reflex. Cracks fill the air, like machinegun fire. He flings himself to the floor on instinct, blowing feathers out of his face. Why are there so many feathers on the fucking floor?

His pistol is in his hands, aimed up at the window. There are...no bullet holes, not even in the walls. He shifts and another shot rings out, something stings in his shoulder. Are they shooting from below? 

He whips around, more shots, there are no bullet holes in the floor. 

There’s a shit ton of feathers, and little scraps of tissue paper, twisted at one end…

Phil picks up one of the unexploded ones. He remembers these, summers spent out at his family’s lakehouse, tossing snappers at the ground to hear them go off. 

He wipes a hand over his face to get rid of the  _ fucking feathers _ and it comes away covered in...paint. Neon paint, in a variety of colors. 

“Well played.” 

Techno bursts into the room, gun drawn, eyes snapping to the walls and windows. He’s breathing hard, his eyes wide behind the intimidating scowl he’s got on. 

“I’m alright,” Phil says, holding up his hands to show that he’s unharmed. Wet, and covered in feathers, and--if it were anyone other than Techno here--thoroughly humiliated, but unharmed. 

Slowly, Techno lowers his pistol, his eyes still dart around the room, still looking for a threat. Phil lets him calm down on his own. 

Finally, Techno’s eyes fall on him and stay there. 

“What the fuck.” 

Phil laughs, wiping his sleeve over his eyes to get rid of the paint threatening to drip in them. The thing is already ruined, the paint is all over his shoulders and back. 

“Well,” Phil says, “it seems I underestimated them a bit.” 

Techno snorts softly, still too keyed up to really laugh, but Phil knows he’ll lose his shit over this later. “What kind of Home Alone fuckery--” 

Phil gets up to his knees, god he’s getting too fucking old for all this flinging himself around business. This is why he has other people to do that shit for him. His back is not going to be forgiving him for this any time soon. 

Techno grabs his arm and pulls him the rest of the way to his feet. He’s looking over the boys’ handiwork with a smile playing about his lips. Phil brushes a few feathers off his arms, dusting them down his body. He looks up just in time to catch Techno with his phone out. The camera clicks. 

“Bastard.” 

Techno laughs and steps into the room. One of the snappers goes off under his feet and both of them tense, but they know now that they’re not under attack. 

“Well, there’s nobody in the apartment, obviously, no  _ other _ traps that I encountered.” Phil snorts and Techno’s smile gets wider before it disappears entirely. “There was something, though, in Soot’s room. Empty gun case.” 

Phil frowns, “interesting.” That’s not something he would have expected from what he’s read on the guy. Working nine to five in some dead end fast food job doesn’t generally figure in to someone armed and willing to carry against the mafia. 

Its probably some piece bought after a close call with a mugging. A common enough story, something the guy keeps around to make him feel more safe. He’s not going to be trained with it, and he definitely won’t have the guts to actually turn it on anyone. 

There is a difference between aiming at a target and aiming at a living man. Still, people can be dangerous when backed into a corner, and a gun is always dangerous, no matter whose hands its in. 

“We’ll be careful, once we catch up to them.” 

Techno grunts, glancing around the room again. Phil follows his gaze. There’s a gutted pillow on the ground, a few feathers still sticking to the inside, and a healthy handful of empty paint bottles. 

There is also a laptop on the bed, screen blacked out but the lid is flipped up. Phil touches the mouse pad and just like he’d expected, a message appears. 

**_Too late bitch_ **

“Its a good thing they’re kids,” Techno mutters. There’s a smile playing at his lips though, one that definitely wouldn’t be there if they were dealing with adults here. This sort of insult would require quite the slow and painful death in retribution. 

Image is everything. 

But these are kids, and Phil is willing to let this sort of thing slide for kids. 

Lucky for them. 

“Well, they’re kids that aren’t here. Let’s get out of this place. We don’t want them to get too far ahead.” 

Techno grunts, “you better take off that jacket or you’ll ruin the leather on my seats.” 

Phil laughs softly, “I will, don’t worry.” 

They leave the abandoned apartment behind, there is nothing there that they want. 

***

Will doesn’t stop when the sun sets. He drives straight through the night, taking turns at random. Tommy and Tubbo are asleep, the moon high above them, the road stretches on forever past the end of his headlights. 

God it all went so fast. They’re on the run, he’s  _ kidnapped Tubbo _ , he didn’t even think about it in the heat of the moment. He doesn’t think that Tubbo has thought of it either. 

Its not like his parents are likely to notice for a good while. Even the school calls Will before them, only when Wilbur doesn’t answer their calls about the boys not being in class will they turn to Tubbo’s parents. 

Its going to make things much more complicated once the police get involved. The majority of them are probably mafia, and the remaining ones aren’t going to be shining examples of morality either. 

At least Tommy and Tubbo aren’t blue-eyed blond haired little girls, they won’t have the whole country looking for them. 

He goes over their supplies in his head again, they’d eaten the poptarts and drunk some of the water bottles. They refilled them at the gas station though, along with the gas. He’s probably got a few hours before he needs to fill it up again. 

They have just shy of seven hundred dollars in cash with the contributions from the ATM they’d hit up on their way out of town. Dad’s watch might get them another couple hundred if he haggles it right. That will be the only cash they get in for a few weeks at least though. 

They need to find somewhere to settle down. A small town would be best, small enough that there isn’t much crime, but big enough that new faces won’t draw undue attention. 

He remembers learning this shit at dad’s knee. Listening intently as he laid out how and why he was doing what he was doing, in the rare times he’d been sober, at least. He’d been so determined, so  _ fucking sure _ that he could keep Tommy from having to learn the same lessons. 

In the seat beside him, Tommy mumbles something incomprehensible in his sleep. Shifting around to try and find a more comfortable position. Wilbur knows that its going to be impossible, he’s slept in this car enough times. 

Tommy’s brow furrows, and he makes a little sound in the back of his throat. Something sad and scared. Its not a surprise he’s getting nightmares after a day like today. 

Wilbur flicks a glance to the road as he takes one hand off the wheel to run it through Tommy’s hair. “Its alright,” he murmurs, just like he used to, “I’m here.” 

Tommy’s eyes open a tiny bit and Wilbur smiles at him. “Go back to sleep.” 

Tommy hums and does. 

*** 

As soon as the sun rises, Wilbur pulls into the parking lot of a diner and orders real breakfast. And, more importantly:  _ real coffee _ . God he loves bottomless cups. 

Tommy and Tubbo are also shuffling around like they’re undead rather than teenagers. Tubbo keeps rubbing at his neck, he’s probably got one hell of a crick in it from sleeping at the angle he had. Wilbur winces in sympathy. 

“What’s the plan for today?” Tommy asks, poking his fork at his eggs. “More driving?” 

Wilbur nods, eyes flicking around the room. They’re pretty much the only ones here this early in the morning. Just them, some old guy who the waitresses greet like a regular, and the waitresses themselves. 

“We’ll get some burner phones at the corner store,” he says, “so we can keep in contact with each other just in case we get separated.” 

Tommy looks up sharply from his eggs, his eyes narrowed. He doesn’t say it, but Wilbur knows they’re all thinking the same thing. The phones are really more for Tubbo and Tommy, so that they can find each other if they have to split and run. If they get found, Wilbur won’t be meeting up with them. 

“We’re also going to hit the library,” Wilbur says before Tommy can say anything. “Figure out where we are and where we need to go.” 

“Are we going somewhere specific?” Tubbo asks, he’s been draining his coffee cup about as fast as Wilbur so he’s a bit perkier than Tommy. 

Will nods, “dad had an old safehouse in a town out west. Pogtopia or something.” 

“Weird fucking name,” Tommy mutters as the waitress comes by again for refills. 

“You guys are really going through the coffee,” she laughs. 

Wilbur laughs with her but doesn’t reply. Soon enough she’s on her way again. 

“I’ve heard weirder,” Tubbo says, placidly adding about fifteen sugars to his newest cup of coffee. He goes for the creamer next. 

“Like what?” 

“Manifoldland, Boomerville, rutabagaville,” Tubbo ticks off the names on his fingers. 

“What the fuck?” 

Wilbur snorts and doesn’t bother putting anything in his coffee. Its more efficient to just drink it black. “Hurry up,” he says, motioning to their plates, “we need to get moving as quickly as possible.” 

The smiles fall off their faces, and Wilbur feels bad for it, but they can’t afford to stay anywhere for long. As soon as they get to the safehouse there will be time for jokes and tears. Until then they need to keep moving. 

He goes into the corner store alone and gets three of the cheapest phones he can and a couple prepaid cards with minutes. Its not much, but they’re for emergencies. 

His eyes catch on a bright bag of gummy bears at the checkout. With a sigh he throws it onto the pile, its only a couple of bucks and the boys love the damn things. 

Sure enough, the candy is greeted with victorious cheers from the both of them and they quickly start fighting over who gets which color as Wilbur drives around looking for a library. He holds his hand over the back of his chair, “gimmie a handful.” 

“I’ll give you Tommy’s ones,” Tubbo says. 

“HEY!” Tommy shouts immediately, “give him yours!” 

“No way!” 

“I’ll take that fucking bag from you,” Tommy shouts, twisting in his seat. Wilbur watches in the rearview mirror as Tubbo leans out of his reach with a laugh. 

Finally, he pulls into the shaded parking lot of the library. 

“We’re coming in with you,” Tubbo informs him, already unfastening his seatbelt. 

Wilbur opens his mouth to argue--it’ll be much more inconspicuous if he is the only one to go in--but Tommy’s door is already open. “We’re not sitting in the car like fucking toddlers,” he informs Wilbur. 

Will sighs, but it isn’t worth putting up a fight over. They’ll be out of here in a few minutes anyway. Best to let them stretch their legs and such before they’re locked in the car for another day. 

The librarian directs them to computers they can use and Wilbur sits down. Tubbo and Tommy take over one a few down from him. He leans back, trying to see the screen, but Tommy is standing between him and it. 

They’re definitely up to  _ something _ . Wilbur just fucking hopes that its not another scheme like the last one. He doesn’t have time to worry about it. He’s got to check a few things and then get his directions. 

The first thing he checks is the news for L’manberg. 

And the first thing on the page is his fucking face. 

**Man abducts two teenagers**

God fucking  _ damn it _ . 

He scrolls through the article, they’ve got Tommy and Tubbo’s pictures as well--actually a good one of Tommy, which is rare, from a few years ago--and a description of his fucking car. Of course. 

He should have goddamn expected this. Why waste time and manpower looking for them secretly when they could just have the entire county looking for Wilbur and the boys. 

He closes out of the website. His bank account is probably frozen as well, no use checking that. He pulls up maps instead. They’re a good three days out from Pogtopia, and not nearly as far from L’manberg as they need to be. They have to move quick. 

He prints off the directions and then goes to fetch the boys. 

They’re giggling at something on the screen. Never a good sign. 

He looks over their shoulders, they’re watching some clip on loop. A dude in a nice suit getting absolutely  _ obliterated _ by a bucket of paint hung over a door...a really familiar door. 

“Is that  _ your _ room?” Wilbur demands. 

“Yup,” Tommy says proudly. 

“Who the fuck is that guy?” 

The boys exchange a glance, “well..” Tubbo begins. 

“That’s the fucker who’s house we broke into,” Tommy explains, “apparently he found the apartment. Tubbo and I left them a present though.” He cackles a bit too loudly and the librarian hushes him.

“What the fuck,” Wilbur whispers, “why would you  _ do that? _ ” 

“Its funny,” Tommy shrugs. 

Wilbur would really, really like it if one day, Tommy and Tubbo actually gained some  _ wisdom _ to go along with their out of control intelligence. So that they could, maybe,  _ consider _ that pissing off the already pissed off mafia goon hunting them like animals is a  _ bad fucking idea _ . 

“Oh my god.” Wilbur mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. At least they know what the guy looks like. On the screen, another man comes rushing into the room. 

He’s a big fucker, in another expensive looking suit, wielding a goddamn gun like a fucking professional. Shit. He’s got to be some kind of bodyguard, he knew that the boys had to have pissed off someone fairly high ranking based on the little solid ruby statue that they’d stolen--low level grunts don’t just  _ have that shit _ . Having a bodyguard just cements that. 

And having whatever connections are necessary to get a news outlet to run with the boys’ “kidnapping” on the front page. 

Fuck, they’re fucked. 

On the screen, the first guy in the suit--the one now ruined by the paints that Wilbur hadn’t even known they still  _ owned _ \--is getting to his feet. 

He’s wasting time. 

“Come on,” Wilbur says, “we’ve got to go.” 

“Give us a sec,” Tubbo says, waving Will off, “we’re working on something. I don’t know when we’re gonna be back to a computer so we’ve got to do it now.” 

He reaches down and pulls his bag into his lap. The front pocket is full of electronic shit that Wilbur has no hope of understanding. Tubbo plugs a couple things into the computer and cracks his knuckles. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting leverage,” Tommy says, leaning over the back of Tubbo’s chair. 

Oh god. 

“No,” Wilbur says, “we’re  _ not _ antagonizing them further. We’re leaving.” 

“Let us handle this, Wilbur,” Tubbo says, his voice calm as his fingers fly over the keyboard. “We know what we’re doing.” 

“Do you?!” Wilbur demands. The librarian hushes him sharply. 

God damn it. 

He pulls a chair closer, there’s no way he’s getting Tubbo away from the fucking computer without causing a scene and right now they need to lay low. 

Tubbo clicks a few things and types in a few more and suddenly there is another desktop displayed on the computer. Its the default picture, but there’s files and programs that Will is pretty sure that a library wouldn’t use. 

Tubbo is clicking through folders at the speed of light. “Tommy, USB,” he demands. Tommy flips the USB over a couple times and finally gets it into the computer. Tubbo starts moving files. A loading bar appears on the screen, creeping closer and closer to one hundred percent. 

Seventy, eighty, eighty-five. 

The upload stops. 

A text box appears on the screen. 

**_S:Tubbo?_ **

“Fuck.” Tubbo mutters, echoed by Wilbur and Tommy. 

**_T:Sam._ **

**_S:What are you doing?_ **

Tommy takes over the keyboard, leaning around Tubbo to get his fingers on the keys.

**_T: What does it fucking look like? Getting insurance. Tell your employers to leave us the fuck alone and these files won’t get sent to every law enforcement agency in the country._ **

**_S:Tommy? Is that you?_ **

**_T: What do you fucking think?_ **

**_S: You don’t need to do this, boys._ **

**_T: Oh, we’ll just lay down and let your mafia friends kill us then, great idea._ **

Will glances to Tubbo’s face, his teeth are gritted, but there’s a wetness around his eyes. He gently puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder.

**_S: Just listen. Phil isn’t going to hurt you guys_ **

What the fuck. They’re being hunted down like dogs by a guy named fucking  _ Phil? _

**_T: Yeah I definitely believe that. Thanks Sam._ **

**_S: I’m trying to help you_ **

**_T: Then fucking HELP US Sam. Get these fuckers to leave us alone_ **

Sam doesn’t reply for a long moment. 

**_S: I’m sorry._ **

Tubbo sits up suddenly, “god damn it he’s backtracing us.” He wipes furiously at his eyes and shoves Tommy’s hands away from the keyboard. 

He closes the chatbox and types a few commands into another box that pops up. “There,” he says, but there isn’t any victory in his tone, “I turned off the power. That’s what they get for using all that smarthome shit.” He sniffles a little. 

Will squeezes his shoulder. “I’m sorry Tubbo, I know you liked Sam a lot.” 

He’s heard a hundred different stories about what Sam did, or what Sam said. He even met the man once or twice, bringing Tubbo home after they’d both stayed at the school late working on some computer thing or another. He’d been glad that Tubbo had someone he could talk about that stuff with, because Wilbur is completely lost and god knows Tubbo’s parents wouldn’t sit and listen to him talk about it. 

Now Sam is hunting them down. 

“We should go,” Tubbo says, ejecting the USB. 

“Alright.” 

They leave with as little fanfare as they’d arrived. Tommy sits shotgun, reading the directions, and Tubbo huddles in the backseat, turning the USB over and over in his hands. 

Its a quiet day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go guys, things are getting interesting, Phil and Techno are on the boys' trail. Just how long can Wilbur keep them one step ahead?


	4. Sam has Made The Advancement: [The Guilt of Judas]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s always going on about his students, Techno knows that he loves the little shits. They’re his morality project. As long as he can help out some kids, surely he isn’t all bad, blah, blah, blah.   
> Probably tearing the guy up to have to betray one of them. Techo’ll have to get him a present when they get back. Something on top of returning the kid safe and sound and shit.   
> Maybe he can get Phil to talk to the kid once they calm him down, explain that Sam didn’t want to sell him out and shit. That would probably help right? Having Phil explain it at least will be better than trying to do it himself.   
> “Anyway,” Phil says, “they’re going to a town called Pogtopia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello! Am back once again with a chapter for y'all!   
> Head's up though I think I'm going to do a pretty big overhaul of the ending chapter of Mafia because I'm really not happy with them and I finally figured out what exactly it was that was bothering me about them. Hopefully I'll be able to get it finished up before we get to that point but we'll see. This may go on hiatus for a bit while I finish up the edits. But again this is at the ending chapters, like the last two, and we're still only on chapter four so I *think* I'll be able to get it adjusted with no need for a pause on uploads! 
> 
> Enjoy today's chapter!

Sam sits in the dark and he considers his choices. His phone is folded in his hands, all he has to do is call Phil. All he has to do is turn his phone over and tap ‘call’, he’s already got Phil’s contact pulled up. 

Its simple, but it isn’t easy. 

He’s never really regretted working for Phil. People get hurt, sure, that’s the bread and butter of the business. Maybe it makes him a bad person if he isn’t too bothered about it. 

Sam is a loyal man, its what’s gotten him this far. Like Phil, he’s good to his own, and like Phil, he has a tendency to care less for those who aren’t his. 

But Tubbo is his, and so is Tommy, and since he is connected to them, so is Wibur. He’s heard a hundred stories about the man, he’s seen how he takes care of the boys. 

Now he is helping Phil hunt them down. He isn’t doing it to hurt them, and he knows that Phil isn’t either. That doesn’t change the fact that he knows he has hurt Tubbo and Tommy regardless. 

They don’t trust easily, but he’d carefully made his way into their hearts, and they’d made their way into his. 

Now they’re a hundred miles from L’manberg and going further. And Sam has to stop them. 

Phil won’t hurt them, but god knows he’ll scare the shit out of them. He scares the shit out of Sam some days. 

But he won’t hurt them, he’ll bring them home, safe and unharmed. Its better than letting them live their lives on the run. 

At least that’s what he tells himself. 

He flips his phone over and presses ‘call’. 

The line rings. 

***

All in all, its a pretty relaxing trip. Techno’s been on worse ones with Phil. There’s not even anyone shooting at them this time. He pulls a gummy bear out of the bag. 

“That one’s mine,” Phil says. 

Techno snorts and eats it, chewing with his mouth open to show Phil just how much he cares. Phil punches him in the arm. “Bastard.” 

He grabs the bag out of the center console and puts it into his door pocket. 

“Cheater,” Techno grumbles. 

“We’ll fucking talk when you can respect the law of the land.” 

Techno opens his mouth to reply, but Phil’s phone rings, cutting him off. “Its Sam,” Phil says, putting it to his ear. Techno can’t hear Sam’s side of the conversation, but Phil’s face is doing some interesting expressions. 

He’s worried, but also impressed, and a little bit proud, and then concerned. Must be about the damn kids, Techno wonders what they’ve done now. 

They’re probably the most interesting thing that’s happened in the past three or four years, he’ll give them that. They’re daring little shits, more so than he was at their age, but they’re also smarter than he was at their age. 

He’d been a dumb shit when he joined under Phil’s father. Too stupid to realize that the twenty-something year old who hung out by the door was the Boss’s kid. If Phil were anyone else, he’d have probably killed Techno for his impudence. 

Phil’s always been a weirdo though, he’d found Techno amusing. And eventually, he’d found Techno useful. He probably wouldn’t have been able to overthrow his father on his own, but the two of them are a force to be reckoned with. 

“You're sure?” Phil asks suddenly, Techno glances away from the road. “Interesting,” Phil continues thoughtfully. “We’ll get there before them, thanks for the update.” 

Techno doesn’t have to ask as Phil sets his phone down, “apparently, Tubbo hacked into my computer again.” 

Techno grunts. Bold little shit, he’s said it before, he’ll say it again. These are the dumbest geniuses he thinks he’s ever encountered. What kind of fucking kid hacks into the personal computer of a mafia boss? 

“He was looking for blackmail, apparently,” Phil continues. “Didn’t get much of anything. Stuff we can handle if it comes to it.” 

Fuck, its a good thing they’ve got Sam. Techno’s glad he didn’t have to kill that guy. Would have been shitty, he likes Sam, and there’s nobody better at computer shit. 

Nobody but some high school kid, apparently. 

At least, the kid probably will be once he gets to Sam’s age. Thankfully, for now, the student hasn’t surpassed the master. 

“Sam did manage to get a location though. Both where they are now and where they’re going.” 

“How’d he manage that?” Techno asks, “kid trusts him that much?” 

Phil winces, “if he did, he probably doesn’t anymore.” 

“Damn.” Sam’s always going on about his students, Techno knows that he loves the little shits. They’re his morality project. As long as he can help out some kids, surely he isn’t all bad, blah, blah, blah. 

Probably tearing the guy up to have to betray one of them. Techo’ll have to get him a present when they get back. Something on top of returning the kid safe and sound and shit. 

Maybe he can get Phil to talk to the kid once they calm him down, explain that Sam didn’t want to sell him out and shit. That would probably help right? Having Phil explain it at least will be better than trying to do it himself. 

“Anyway,” Phil says, “they’re going to a town called Pogtopia.” 

“What kind of fucking name is that?” 

“There are worse ones out there.”

"Really?" 

"Rutabegaville, Manifoldland, Boomerville." 

Techno snorts. “Fair enough.How’d he find out where they're headed anyway?” 

“Someone else in the library where the kid was at was looking up stuff in L’manberg and then directions to Pogtopia. Pretty easy to guess that it must be Soot.” 

Techno grunts, “we driving or are we taking the plane?” 

“Is that even a question?” 

“I was already turning towards the airport.” 

“You know me so well.” 

***

They travel for another day before Wilbur finds a good candidate.

There’s a van parked in a mostly vacant lot at the edge of another town. There’s some shit on the top of it, leaves and bird crap. Clearly its been there awhile, but it looks to be in good repair. 

Probably some kind of work vehicle that won’t be missed until monday. That gives them two days of travel on it. That’ll get them to Pogtopia and Wilbur can ditch the thing somewhere. 

He’s going to miss his car. He loves this damn thing, but there’s a description of it circulating. Its probably a goddamn miracle that they haven’t been pulled over before now. 

A miracle and the fact that he’s mostly been sticking to backroads. 

But still. The van is less conspicuous, and it gives him the chance to teach Tommy and Tubbo another one of the skills that dad saw fit to pass on. He pulls up beside it. “Come on, out,” he nudges Tommy’s shoulder. 

Its getting late and none of them have slept well so he’s not surprised the kid has fallen asleep, curled up against the door. “Tubbo, you too.” He turns around and taps Tubbo’s knee. He stirs with a whine. 

“I know, we’ll be quick, wake up and you can go back to sleep soon.” 

Tommy is sitting up, stretching and looking out the window. “Where are we?” 

“Just outside of town,” Wilbur says, “gather your stuff, we’re switching cars.” 

That wakes the boys up. 

“What? Why?” Tubbo asks. 

“How?” Tommy chimes in. 

Wilbur jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the van, “we’re hot wiring it. Get out, I’m teaching you guys how to do it.” 

One good thing about working with a couple of kids who are smarter than most adults is that it doesn’t take much to teach them shit. When they’re interested in it at least. According to their teachers they’re hell raisers in class but they watch Wilbur breaking into the car with rapt attention. 

They ask a few questions, all of them to the insightful and to the point. Wilbur locks the van again once he gets it open and has them both try their hand at getting it open. 

Its an old model, thankfully, so no electronic security. Dad was gone when that shit really took off in cars, Wilbur has no idea how to disable it. Once he’s sure they’ve got that down, he teaches them how to hot wire the car itself. The engine roars to life under his hands. 

“Get the stuff,” he directs them. There’s plenty of space in the back of the van. They’ll probably even be able to make a little pallet back there to sleep in. There’s only two actual seats though, so whichever one of the boys isn’t riding shotgun will be in the back. 

Between the three of them, its easy to move their supplies over to the van. Wilbur lays his hand on the hood of his car one last time and wishes it a quiet goodbye. It was his first car, one more thing sacrificed to keep Tommy and Tubbo safe. 

It is far from the most valuable of things he has sacrificed, he doesn’t regret any of them. 

He climbs into the van and drives. 

Tommy and Tubbo are asleep in the back quickly enough, but Wilbur gets them a few hours away from the lot where they left his car before he joins them. It isn’t much more comfortable than sleeping in the car, truth be told. 

Its only for a few more days though, just until they get to Pogtopia. 

In the morning he gets up and drives some more. They stop for food a few times, and he lets the boys out to stretch, but he keeps them moving as much as possible. He drives late into the night, unable to sleep with the phantom feeling of eyes on him. It feels like their enemies could be around any corner. Just waiting for them. 

When he finally pulls over and falls asleep, its nearly dawn again. The next day of driving is hell. His head pounds, he can barely keep his eyes open, but he has to keep going. He has to get them to Pogtopia. 

The hours slip by, the sun gets closer and closer to the horizon. Just a little further, and then he can stop for the night. Just a little more. 

“Will,” Tommy says, “Wilbur.  _ WILL _ .” 

He jerks, “what?” 

He blinks and realizes that they’re still stopped at an intersection, there are no cars. He was waiting for a line of cars to go by, wasn’t he? 

“You can’t do this man,” Tommy says. “Let me have a turn driving. You’ve been doing it this whole time.” 

“I’m fine,” Wilbur says, straightening up and rubbing at his eyes. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.” 

“Let me drive, Wilbur.” 

“You barely have a permit,” Wilbur reminds him, “I’m fine to drive, Tommy. I just zoned out for a bit.” 

“You fell asleep,” Tubbo chimes in from the back. 

“I--” Wilbur sighs, he knows they’re not going to let this go. “We just need to get to Pogtopia, okay? Just one more day on the road.” 

Tommy and Tubbo exchange a glance, “we’re stopping at a motel tonight.” 

“That is not up to you,” Wilbur snaps. 

“Wilbur,” Tommy says “we are stopping at a motel. You’re tired, I’m tired, everyone’s slept like shit. We smell like shit. Let us stop for one fucking night and take showers and sleep in real beds, okay?” 

It sounds like fucking heven. “We have to keep--” 

“At this rate you’re going to get us into a wreck,” Tubbo says bluntly, “which will kill us just as efficiently as the mafia.” 

Wilbur whips around, mouth open in shock but Tubbo is unmoved. 

“Either we stop for the night or you let one of us drive.” 

Wilbur sighs, he should let one of them drive. He should keep them moving. But Tommy and Tubbo both have rings under their eyes too, they’re all tired, and dirty and god does a bed sound nice. 

“Alright. Tommy take the wheel, bring us to a motel or something.” 

“Fuck yeah,” Tommy sighs, “move over bitch, I’m driving!” 

Oh god. 

“Please be careful.” 

“Beep beep motherfuckers,” Tubbo snickers. 

They pull up to some shitty motel about an hour later and Wilbur leaves the boys to get their bags together as he signs them in. Its not cheap, even for a single room with two beds, but Will is looking forward to that fucking shower. 

They can afford to stop for one night, surely. 


	5. Wilbur Soot has Made the Advancement: [You Cannot Rest Here, There are Monsters Nearby]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That’s when he sees them.   
> A man in an expensive green suit, blond hair pulled back. Beside him, a mountain of a man in a red suit with long pink hair loose around his shoulders.   
> He’s only seen them once, but Will’s always been good with faces.   
> And you tend to remember the look of the guys hunting you down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you guessed, no, no they did not have time to stay at the motel. Rip to Wilbur's sense of security, he's never seeing that again.  
> I've been making some progress on the edits, it looks like I'm gonna end up adding on a chapter or two, good news for you guys lol. Still not sure if there'll need to be a break in posting, I'm doing my best to avoid it though <3 I'm so glad you guys have been enjoying this! I love reading your comments!

They probably damn near run the place out of hot water between all three of their showers. God it feels amazing to be fucking  _ clean  _ again. Wilbur puts on new clothes and lays back on a real bed, arms spread wide. 

“Oh my god this is heaven.” 

Tubbo grunts agreement from beside him, stretched out on the other bed. He and Tommy have shared enough times that Will didn’t bother getting a room with three. 

Tommy had lost the most intense rock paper scissors tournament of Wilbur’s  _ entire fucking life  _ and ended up with third shower. Which he is now enjoying thoroughly. 

“I’m going to sleep so fucking well tonight,” Tubbo says. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

First, though, he has a few things to take care of. With a groan that he feels to the very depths of his fucking  _ soul _ , Wilbur sits up and digs his bag and jacket out of the pile by the door. 

He’s been pretty sloppy with keeping the cash together, its stashed all over the place. In his coat pockets, his jeans, dumped loose in the bag. Will lays it all out and counts it up. The hotel has knocked them down to about a hundred bucks. Fuck. 

At least the van is full on gas, they’ll have enough to get to Pogtopia. He  _ hopes _ that dad still has some cash stashed in the safehouse, but he isn’t going to count on it. He digs the watch out of the inner pocket of his bag and lays it out on the table. 

If he haggles it right and gets a really good deal, he’s looking at about two hundred bucks for it. Three hundred bucks to last them until he can get a job. 

The food is pretty much gone by now, only a few packs of crackers crushed basically to dust by the trip. Groceries will be their first priority, and whatever repairs the house will probably need. He’s not counting on dad having left it in good condition even before it stood empty for years. 

Wilbur holds back a sigh. 

He can do this, he can. Its just going to be rough at first. 

“Is that all we’ve got?” Tubbo asks, suddenly behind him.

Wilbur jumps, his heart skips a beat. “Fuck, Tubbo, don’t do that.” 

“Sorry, big man. That’s not a lot.” 

“We’ll pawn the watch next town we’re in. That’s two hundred.” 

Tubbo chews his lip, “we’ve also got the statue, we could sell that too.” Hu turns and digs around in his bag and sets the statue on the table. 

God Wilbur wishes they could have just chucked the damn thing out the window on the highway. Or at least left it behind at the apartment, but Tommy and Tubbo brought the fucking thing with them. 

Its got to be cursed, its blood red and an  _ idol _ , that’s just asking for someone to curse that shit. 

“Its too recognizable, if we pawn it they’ll know we’re in the area.” 

They should just bury the damn thing in the backyard. Or in the backyard of whoever pisses them off when they get to the house. Maybe they can transfer the curse to whatever nosy neighbors are around. 

Tubbo hums. 

“We’ll figure something out, don’t worry,” Wilbur says, trying for confidence. Tubbo doesn’t look like he believes him, but at least he goes and lays back down. 

Will has pretty well pulled everything out of his bag so he grabs the last few things from the bottom and sets about putting everything back to order. 

The gun is heavy in his hand when he pulls it out. His index finger curls naturally over the trigger guard, the rough grip of the magazine fits into his palm like it was made for him.

He thought he’d never pull the damn thing out again, but here he is. He sets the gun on the table, next to the cash and the watch. He’ll put that shit in the bag tomorrow, after he’s put his dirty clothes in. 

Tommy finally steps out of the bathroom. “Oh my god I’m  _ Human _ !” he shouts. 

Tubbo snickers, “shut up man we’re gonna get noise complaints.” 

“I’ll complaint you.” 

“That doesn’t make sense.” 

“Wanna fuckin’ find out?” Tommy dives onto the bed, crashing into Tubbo and the both of them fall to the floor swearing and pulling each other’s hair. 

“Could we please just go to bed and pretend that we’re not five?” Wilbur asks without much hope that it will work. 

It doesn’t, but he’s not too worried. Its good for them to be able to goof around for a bit. 

It doesn’t take long for them to settle down in the end. They’re all tired and the beds may be cheap motel mattresses but they’re worlds better than the back of the van.

Its the best night’s sleep Wilbur has gotten in awhile. 

***

The boys are up already by the time Wilbur opens his eyes, talking quietly on the bed. Wilbur groans, “you two better not be fucking plotting anything.”

“Just your downfall,” Tubbo says with a sweet smile. 

Wilbur snorts and rolls over. Sunlight is streaming through the window, god it must be like fucking  _ noon _ . “Why didn’t you wake me up?” 

“You needed the sleep,” Tommy says unrepentantly, “a few hours of hanging out here isn’t going to kill us.” 

Wilbur knows, logically, that Tommy is right. If fucking  _ Phil _ hasn’t found them yet, his window is closing. He probably doesn’t even know their destination. Who would look for them in a podunk little town called  _ Pogtopia _ ? 

Less logically, his brain whispers that Phil is nipping at their heels. That they won’t be safe until they make it to dad’s place. Not that the house is going to be a fucking bunker. Its probably going to be a shit heap with weapons, ammo, and  _ maybe _ some canned food from the fucking eighties. If its got anything in it at all. 

“Can we get some lunch?” Tommy asks, “I’m fuckin starving.” 

Wilbur sighs, there’s only the crackers left. They’ll need to find something. There was a couple of vending machines out in the lobby, he thinks. And probably a coffee machine. God he wants coffee. “Yeah, let’s get dressed and grab something, then we’ll come back and pack, alright?” 

Tommy and Tubbo nod and Will drags himself out of bed. They’re almost there, they’re almost safe. Just one more day.

Sure enough, there’s some old vending machines in the lobby and--thank fucking god--a coffee machine. He hands the boys a couple bucks and tells them to hit the vending machines while he goes straight for the coffee. 

He keeps an ear on them--they’re bickering over what snacks to pick--as the percolator burbles and wheezes its way to making him a cup. Around the corner, the door creaks--they need to oil the fucking thing, it sound like the souls of the fucking dead.

The check in counter is empty, not surprising at this hour. Why anyone would be coming  _ into _ a hotel at fucking  _ noon _ is beyond him but far be it from Will to judge. 

Finally, the percolator gives up the final wet wheeze of coffee into his cup. Will grabs it and only barely keeps himself from drinking it piping hot. He fastens a lid onto it, turning to call Tommy and Tubbo to hurry up. 

That’s when he sees them. 

A man in an expensive green suit, blond hair pulled back. Beside him, a mountain of a man in a red suit with long pink hair loose around his shoulders. 

He’s only seen them once, but Will’s always been good with faces. 

And you tend to remember the look of the guys hunting you down. 

The coffee cup slips out of his fingers. 

They’re not looking at him, they’re waiting at the front counter. The one in green--Phil? Or is that the other guy?--is leaning casually against it, arms crossed on the old wood. The red one is glancing around, but Wilbur is out of his line of sight from the coffee station. 

Tommy and Tubbo are coming towards him, he can see them coming down the hall. They’ve got a bag of gummy bears and a twinky. The wrappers are crinkling, their voices are carrying through the hall. 

The red guy is looking in their direction, a furrow in his brow. Phil nudges him and draws his attention. 

Wilbur bolts. He jumps over the spilled coffee and just barely keeps from taking the boys to the floor as he grabs them. He slaps his hands over their mouths, shoving them against the wall. 

“They’re here,” he whispers frantically, he should be calm, he should keep calm so the boys don’t panic. “Get to the room,  _ right now.  _ Quietly. Go.” 

He shoves them ahead of him and they sprint as quietly as possible down the hall. The snacks are left on the floor in their wake. 

Will’s hands are shaking so badly he can barely get the room key into the slot. He pulls it out too quickly the first time and has to do it again to let the reader actually register it. Once the light beeps green he flings the door open. 

“Get your shit. Now.” He shuts the door firmly behind them, he reaches for the chain latch, but they need to move quickly. 

He helps Tommy stuff his clothes into his bag--somehow in the short time they’d been here Tommy had managed to scatter his shit all over the room. Tubbo is pulling the zipper shut on his own bag. 

“I’ve got this, get your shit,” he says, shoving Wilbur away from getting Tommy’s burner phone out from under the bed. Wilbur nods and trips over the chair as he tries to get to the table. 

“God  _ damn it _ ," he snaps, kicking it away. It topples with a clatter that almost disguises the sound of a knock on the door. 

They freeze like deer in the headlights. Tommy is in the bathroom, Tubbo has the USB with their blackmail held tightly in his hand. 

The knock comes again, brisk and businesslike, but unhurried. “Hello?” A voice calls through the door, Will has no idea which one of them it is. 

Another knock, this one heavier, like someone is pounding the door with their fist. “We know you’re in there.” This voice is deeper, almost a growl. That’s got to be the bodyguard. 

“We didn’t order any room service,” Tommy says, his voice has a waver to it, but he still fucking says it. Wilbur really wishes that he wouldn’t. 

A chuckle comes from the other side of the door, Wilbur has never been more afraid of a fucking laugh. He carefully gets to his feet. Moving Tubbo out of his way as he creeps to the table. 

“We just want to talk,” the softer voice--probably Phil-- says, “won’t you let us in?” 

Sam had said the same thing--that they wanted to talk--it isn’t a more believable lie from this guy’s mouth. Wilbur carefully lifts the gun off the table. 

“Open the door or we’ll open it,” the bodyguard says, “your choice.” 

Tommy opens his mouth but Will shoots him a glare and he shuts it again. He motions for the boys to get behind him and slowly they creep across the room. 

Tubbo is fidgeting desperately with the USB, pulling out the plug and retracting it.  _ Click, click, click. _

For once Wilbur is glad that the gun is familiar in his hands. He takes the stance that dad taught him, leaning forward to brace for the recoil, finger not on the trigger yet. Not until he’s ready to shoot, one hand on the bottom of the magazine, the other wrapped around it. 

He can barely hear the sigh from the other side of the door, “alright then.” Phil says. 

Will braces, ready for the bodyguard to kick it down, but instead there’s a scrape, and a beep, and a click as the lock disengages. The door swings open. 

Wilbur tightens his grip on the gun, snarling as the door reveals the two men. “Get the fuck out.” 

The bodyguard’s face darkens and he takes a threatening step forward, putting himself between Willbur and Phil. His hand reaches for his own gun, WIlbur can see it holstered at his waist. 

F _ uck, fuck, fuck, fuck _ . He takes a deep breath, shifts his finger from the guard to the trigger itself. 

A hand appears on the bodyguard’s shoulder, stopping his hand. “Relax,” Phil says, coming out from behind and stepping into the room. Behind him, Will can hear the boys shuffling back a step.

Phil is smiling, utterly unbothered to be facing down the barrel of Wilbur’s gun. He spreads his hands in front of himself, but its a lazy motion, casual. Like he doesn’t think that Wilbur will actually shoot. 

“There’s no need for this,” Phil says, “we really are just here to talk. My name is Phil, you broke into my house,” he laughs a little bit. Like the boys had played some little prank on him. He’s not even looking at Wilbur, his attention is entirely on the boys behind him. 

Tubbo is fidgeting with the USB behind him, Wilbur can hear it clicking. 

“You want the statue?” Wilbur jerks his head to where its still sitting on the table where Tubbo left it. “Take the damn thing and go. We can part ways here and nobody has to die.” 

Phil raises an eyebrow and turns to the sad little pile of their valuables. He tilts his head. He picks up the statue and tosses it casually to the body guard, who catches it with a muttered curse. 

Phil stands there, idly fiddling with dad’s watch. 

_ Click, click, click _ , goes the USB.

“Interesting.” Phil picks up the watch, weighing it in his hand. HIs face is thoughtful, Wilbur’s heart sinks, there’s no way he recognizes the watch. He can’t recognize the watch. 

Dad left the mafia like ten fucking years ago, surely Phil can’t recognize  _ one specific goddamn watch _ from that long ago. 

“Hey!” Tommy snaps from behind him, his voice is a little hoarse and quiet. Quieter than he usually would be but Wilbur wishes that he would be  _ even more quiet _ . “That’s ours.” 

“Tom--” Wilbur snaps, but Phil raises a hand. 

“Ours? It looks a little old for you boys. A little bit big, too.” A smile touches his lips, calculating and terrifying. “Looks like something you might inherit. From your dad maybe?” 

God  _ fucking damn it _ he knows. He goddamn knows. Fuck. Shit. 

He hears Tommy and Tubbo shuffle further back behind him. The USB clicks faster. He can’t help taking a step back himself. 

“He around?” Phil asks, his head tilts.

“No.” Wilbur says, there’s no fucking way he’s letting this asshole talk to Tommy, not while he’s still alive. “He’s gone.” 

“He left,” Tommy agrees, “years ago.” 

“Tommy,” Tubbo whispers warningly. 

“Left?” Phil asks, but he isn’t looking at either of the boys, he’s looking directly at Wilbur now. “Just up and vanished one day huh? Seems like a pretty shit dad, huh Techno?” 

The bodyguard shifts,  _ fuck _ Wilbur almost forgot he was there. He’s the bigger threat here. He shifts his aim back and forth between the two men. 

“Bet he had a real temper too,” the bodyguard rumbles. 

Wilbur’s tongue feels frozen in his mouth. He needs to respond, before Tommy says anything else. But he can’t. His hands shake, just barely. 

“He did,” Tommy says in a near whisper. 

Phil’s brow furrows in a way that almost,  _ almost _ looks sympathetic. Then he turns his full attention back to Will, “looks like you had someone to watch out for you though, huh.” A bit of tension Wilbur hadn’t even noticed falls out of Phil's shoulders. 

“You’ve impressed me,” he says, meeting Wilbur’s eyes directly, “I was mostly just expecting the boys to be the masterminds here, but you were a bit of a dark horse. You did good, getting them this far. Most people wouldn’t have made it.” 

Well, at least Wilbur’s earned the guy’s respect before he puts them down like dogs. Great. 

“How far are you willing to go for them, I wonder. Its not an easy thing, shooting a man.” 

The blood rushes out of Wilbur's face.

He knows. He goddamn knows. He  _ knows _ . He can’t know, but he  _ does _ . He can’t know, he can’t know, he can’t know. His hands are shaking. 

Someone moves over his shoulder, Tommy, it has to be, coming a step closer. 

Phil’s eyes flick over his shoulder to Tommy. 

Wilbur pulls the trigger. 

The gun clicks. 

Phil lunges, fast as a striking snake. His hand is around Wilbur’s wrist. It twists. Pain, the gun clatters out of his hand. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Phil pulls him forward, he’s already off balance, he stumbles into the wall. Phil is behind him, twisting his arm behind his back. He gasps as it strains the joint, nearly dislocating his shoulder. 

“Run!” He screams, and the boys obey. 

He sees them bolt out of the corner of his eye, fast as a pair of rabbits running from the hounds. They slip past the bodyguard and out to freedom. 

Wilbur bucks, but white hot pain explodes in his shoulder. Phil presses him to the wall with a grunt. 

He may be shorter than Will, but he outweighs him and it has to be pure fucking muscle. He grabs Will’s free wrist and twists it back to the other so he can grab them both with one hand. 

“Techno,” Phil says, voice barely strained, “go get the kids.” 

“No!” Wilbur snarls, his face is pressed against the wall and it comes out garbled. He tries to break free again but Phil doesn’t even have to shift his grip now. 

He hears the door shut. 

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _

Phil pulls him off the wall and just as quickly shoves him deeper into the room. Away from the door. Wilbur stumbles, barely catching himself on the bathroom door before he brains himself on it. 

He gets on his feet and whips around, breathing hard. 

Phil is picking up the chair that he’d knocked over earlier, he dusts off the seat and plops down in it. He’s got Will’s gun, held loosely in his hand, resting on his thigh. “Forgot to take the safety off, mate.” 


	6. Wilbur Soot has Made the Advancement: [The Tearful Walrus]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Calm down,” Phil says. He tilts his head, like a fucking vulture looking down at a piece of roadkill, just wondering where to dig its beak in first. He's utterly calm. Why shouldn’t he be? Its not like Wilbur is a real threat to him. Not like he ever was. “I wasn’t lying, we’re not here to hurt them, or you.”   
> “Right,” Will snorts, “you just chased us across the country to congratulate the boys on a heist well done.”   
> “Well,” Phil laughs, “kind of, yeah.”   
> Wilbur snorts disbelievingly.  
> “No, really,” Phil says, “it was impressive. I was curious. If they were adults then maybe it’d be a different story but I don’t hurt kids, mate.”   
> Wilbur notices that he isn’t protected under this little scrap of morality Phil has stitched together. If its even true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from the poem The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carrol in which the titular Walrus and Carpenter call a bunch of oyster children out of their beds promising them nothing but conversation. But eat every one of them instead, though the walrus does so tearfully.

Wilbur stands, hands clenched into fists so they don’t shake, looking Phil in the eyes, waiting for the bullet to come. 

It doesn’t. 

“So,” Phil says, “while we wait for Techno to come back with the boys, how about you and I talk?” 

“Leave them alone,” Will snaps, “don’t you  _ fucking  _ touch them.” His eyes flick to the door. There’s not a single goddamn sound from out there. No voices, no crashes, but at least there are no shots. 

He has to get out of here, he has to go help them. God let him get out of here, he doesn’t care if he lives or dies but he has to protect the boys. They’re out there with the fucking  _ bodyguard  _ of the most terrifying motherfucker Wilbur has ever seen. 

He takes a step towards Phil, the gun tilts a bit more in his direction.

“Calm down,” Phil says. He tilts his head, like a fucking vulture looking down at a piece of roadkill, just wondering where to dig its beak in first. He's utterly calm. Why shouldn’t he be? Its not like Wilbur is a real threat to him. Not like he ever was. “I wasn’t lying, we’re not here to hurt them, or you.” 

“Right,” Will snorts, “you just chased us across the country to congratulate the boys on a heist well done.” 

“Well,” Phil laughs, “kind of, yeah.” 

Wilbur snorts disbelievingly.

“No, really,” Phil says, “it was impressive. I was curious. If they were adults then maybe it’d be a different story but I don’t hurt kids, mate.” 

Wilbur notices that he isn’t protected under this little scrap of morality Phil has stitched together. If its even true. He’s not trusting it. 

Phil doesn’t seem to care for his input though, he continues without giving Wilbur a chance to say anything. “I’m a patient man, I know a good investment when I see it. They want to be involved in this world, clearly, you can’t stop them--though I’m sure you did your best,” he nods his head to Wilbur. “Let me take them under my wing, I’ll keep them safe, and when they’re older they can work for me. Win win for everyone.” 

“When they’re older they’ll  _ owe you _ ,” Wilbur snaps. “If they make it that long. You expect me to believe that you’re going to let all of this shit go? The statue fucking  _ maybe _ , but you know who our dad was, he betrayed you.” 

Phil looks thoughtful for a moment, like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. 

“I tend not to punish sons for the sins of their fathers. Especially when their fathers are dead.” 

Wilbur opens his mouth, but Phil steamrolls over whatever pitiful scrap of denial Will might have summoned up. “It took us awhile to find him, but really he wasn’t buried all that deep. Six feet is pretty deep to dig for a...what? Sixteen year old? Seventeen?” 

Bile gathers in the back of his throat. It had been a lot, digging that hole. He’d thought it was deep enough that it’d never come back to haunt them. 

“...Eighteen,” he says, his voice is a whisper that even he can barely here, “I was eighteen.” 

Phil hums, “had to make sure you’d get custody of Tommy, right? Smart.” 

A shudder runs down Wilbur’s spine. He looks down, he can’t stand to look into Phil’s eyes. No while they’re discussing this. 

“He was always a violent man,” Phil says, “it was good for our business, not so much for raising kids, I’d imagine. I bet he hated how smart Tommy was, he was always touchy about that sort of thing. How bad was it?” 

Wilbur grits his teeth, “he nearly killed him.” 

He remembers Tommy, so small in that great big hospital bed, surrounded by all of those machines. Looking up at him and asking so softly, so innocently, what he’d done wrong. Why dad didn’t love him as much as he loved Wilbur.

Wilbur had held him as close as he could and whispered that dad was the one who was wrong, not Tommy.

He remembers dad looking up at him, enraged and drunk, on his knees. Laughing that Wilbur didn’t have the guts. 

Another thing dad was wrong about. 

“Normally I would be a bit peeved that someone took out a guy I had a vendetta against,” Phil says softly, drawing him out of the memories, “but you had a far more pressing grievance against him, so I’ll let it slide this time.” He smiles a bit, like he’s told a joke. 

Wilbur glares at him, head low. He doesn’t need Phil’s permission, or forgiveness, for killing his father. He doesn’t regret it, the nightmares and the shakiness in his hands are worth it. To keep Tommy safe. 

That’s his job, keeping Tommy, and now Tubbo, safe. No matter who he has to kill to do it. 

“If anything,” Phil says, “I owe you.” 

Wilbur stares, that’s not how it fucking works. People like Phil don’t just  _ owe _ people like him. “I don’t believe you. What do you want?” 

“You’re smart,” Phil says, “maybe not as flashy as your brothers out there, but you were the mastermind behind this whole escape weren’t you?

Your brothers are investment, they’ll take time before they’re ready to be useful, and they’re too young for this kind of work anyway, but you? You need some polishing, but you’re good at this.” 

“You want me to work off their debt.” 

Phil looks surprised, then thoughtful, “you’re a little paranoid, aren’t you?” 

Wlibur raises an eyebrow, flicking his eyes between the gun, the hotel around them, the door where his brothers and Phil’s mountain of a bodyguard disappeared.

There is still no sound from outside. God he hopes the boys just kept running, but he knows that they’ll be trying to get back to him. 

“Fair enough,” Phil laughs. “But no, there’s no debt for taking them under my wing. That’s an investment, I’m happy to let it grow on its own. I know talent when I see it, and when I see it, I do my best to get ahold of it. Its a competitive market out there you know.” 

Wilbur narrows his eyes, “and what if, later on, they don’t want to work for you anymore?” 

Phil hums, “they’ll be dangerous to let go,” he says thoughtfully, “but to be honest, I’m not sure I could keep them if they decided to leave. They’re already this smart, this dangerous. Imagine what they’ll be when they’re older.” 

“I have.” 

Those boys are going to tear the goddamn world apart. Wilbur just hopes he’s around to see the show. 

“I just want to get on the train before it leaves the station,” Phil says simply. “I’d rather they remembered me fondly when they’re taking over the world.” 

Wilbur snorts, “not doing a great job of endearing yourself to them so far, are you?” 

“They’re smart,” Phil says, “they’ll figure out that I don’t mean them, or you, any harm.” As if to prove this, Phil sets the gun aside, showing his empty hands. “You can go out there,” he says, “get them and keep running, or come in from the cold. I’m good to my people, I could be good to you boys.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you guessed, Wilbur did indeed kill their father, he then proceeded to tell Tommy that the guy had just run away like he was avoiding telling him that his fish died. He was Stressed, guys.


	7. TommyInnit has Made the Advancement: [Run Rabbit Run]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy takes a deep breath and turns back around. He sprints for the corner of the building, snatching up a decorative rock as he goes. “Surprise bitch!” he screams as he rounds the corner, he hucks the rock without really trying to aim it. The bodyguard dodges back as it smacks into the corner just ahead of him.   
> “Little shit!”   
> Tommy cackles and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of notes today, Crime Boys v Techno here we go

“Run!” Wilbur screams, and Tommy freezes. Like a fucking moron, he’s stuck there, staring at his big brother. This Phil guy is fast as a goddamn bolt of lightning, slamming WIlbur into the wall. 

Tubbo grabs his wrists and  _ yanks _ . Tommy stumbles a few steps and then gets his feet under him. They’re making a break for the door. The body guard is moving to block them but he isn’t expecting them to be as fast as they are. Tommy feels the tips of the guy’s fingers brush the back of his shirt as they slip out into the hall. 

Tubbo doesn’t hesitate, he lets go of Tommy’s wrist and they tear for the corner. As they make it, Tommy can hear the door to their room closing and heavy footsteps behind them. 

Fuck. 

_ Fuck _ . 

“What do we do?” Tubbo asks, his voice high with fear. 

“I don’t fucking know!” Tommy snaps. 

“You’re the plans guy! Make a plan!” 

“I’m  _ thinking _ !” 

They race around another corner, into the lobby. 

“Outside,” Tommy snap, “outside, go. We can hide.” 

They fling open the doors, his eyes flick over them. Nothing to barricade them with or lock them. Damn it. “Parking lot.” 

They sprint around the side of the building, there’s only a few cars in the lot. Their van, some beat up old junker that was there when they arrived, a couple other shit heaps at the far end of the lot and a fancy one. That must be the mafia guys’. 

Okay, okay he can work with this. 

He just needs to come up with a plan. 

Around the corner, the door squeals as the bodyguard opens it. Fast, he’s got to come up with a plan fast. What do they have? 

Tubbo’s got the USB, they can use that. If they get out of here they can use it to get Will back. As much as he wants to charge back in there, that’s a shit plan. 

“What’s the plan?” Tubbo demands. 

“Escape, get Will back, find a way to Pogtopia, eat our weight in goddamn pizza rolls.” 

“That’s not a  _ plan _ that’s a  _ to do list _ !” 

“I’m still working on the details!” 

His eyes flick over the parking lot again. He can drive, but they need to keep the bodyguard from following them. Hotwire his car and he’s got no ride, alright. But breaking in and hotwiring takes time. They’ll have to split up, fuck. 

He’s faster than Tubbo, and Tubbo’s got the USB and the computer know-how. He’s the priority to get out of here. Alright. He draws off the guard and Tubbo steals the car. 

“Get the car, get the car, get the car,” he points, “I’ll keep bitch boy over there occupied.” Tubbo opens his mouth to argue, “I can outrun that fucker, you get the USB out of here and if I get caught you negotiate for Wilbur and I with the blackmail.” 

Tubbo stares at him, trying to come up with an argument, “ _ fuck _ !” 

Tommy grins, its wild and a lot more fucking confident than he feels. Pounding feet behind them, the guard is coming. They don’t have much time. “Go.” 

“Alright,” Tubbo whispers, he squeezes Tommy’s wrist one more time and bolts across the parking lot. 

Tommy takes a deep breath and turns back around. He sprints for the corner of the building, snatching up a decorative rock as he goes. “Surprise bitch!” he screams as he rounds the corner, he hucks the rock without really trying to aim it. The bodyguard dodges back as it smacks into the corner just ahead of him. 

“Little shit!” 

Tommy cackles and  _ runs _ . 

Just like he wanted, the guard comes after him. Good. He can keep ahead of this fucker. He’s all brawn no brains. 

He just has to get him as far from Tubbo as possible and keep him there. Going back in gives him a lot of potential hiding spots, but he’s also cornered. Across the street there’s an abandoned lot, empty space, wide open. 

Too open, too easy to get shot once the guard gets tired of chasing him. He’s surprised that he hasn’t opened fire yet. But grateful. So unbelievably fucking grateful. 

He can feel a stitch in his side, but there’s no time for that shit. He rounds the other side of the building, there’s a construction site there. Some kind of restaurant looks like.

There’s nobody there. Just lots of big old machines and piles of supplies. Good cover, opposite side of the building from Tubbo. Perfect. 

Tommy peels off the side of the building and ducks past the traffic cones warning people off of the lot. 

He nearly trips and eats shit on a spare brick but he catches himself on his hands and is back on his feet in a second. But its let the guard catch up, Tommy can hear him breathing behind him. Not heavily, fuck. He’s a big guy but he’s in shape. 

Of course he’s in shape. Naturally. 

“Seriously kid?” the guard snaps behind him. 

Tommy vaults through an empty window frame and into the skeleton of the building. They don’t have drywall up yet, he’s small enough to slip through the studs without losing speed. The bodyguard will probably have to turn to the side a bit. 

Point for the little guy. 

“You getting tired yet kid?” The bodyguard asks. He’s not even goddamn winded what the  _ fuck _ . 

“I could do this shit all day, bitch,” Tommy chirps, his voice is breathy though. He darts his gaze around. There’s got to be something. He’s not going to outlast this fucker, his endurance is fucking  _ inhuman _ . 

He goes out another window, to the back of the lot. His foot is immediately caught in some of that bullshit orange netting and he goes down hard. All of the air goes out of his lungs in one  _ whoosh _ and he curls reflexively. 

_ Fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck.  _

The bodyguard appears in the window. 

Fucking shit. 

He scrambles to his hands and knees. 

“There’s no point to this,” the guard says, climbing out of the window at a leisurely pace. Like he’s got all the time in the goddamn world. 

Bitch. 

“I’m pissed at you for stealing my idol--”  _ his  _ idol? _ “ _ \--but we’re really not out to hurt you kid. Phil’s just curious.” 

“What the fuck,” Tommy rasps. He’s finally getting his breath back. His hand curls into a fist. The bodyguard is still coming. Like some fucking prehistoric hunter who’s run some poor fucking antelope to the ground. Jokes on him, Tommy’s always been more of the raccoon type. Feral and rabid and shit. 

The bodyguard kneels beside him, “there’s no point in running.” 

Fucker. 

If he thinks he’s pissed about the idol he’s about to be goddamn  _ furious _ . Tommy twists and kicks the fucker in the crotch. 

“Motherfucker--” 

Tommy scrambles to his feet and bolts back the way he came. Tubbo should be into the car by now. Tommy knows that he’ll be stalling getting out of the lot for as long as possible. He can meet up with Tubbo and they’ll get the fuck out of dodge and come back for Wilbur. 

For a plan he came up with on the fly with a seven foot tall walking nightmare of a man who looks like he eats  _ goddamn tanks _ for breakfast on his tail, its not too fucking bad. Tommy laughs breathlessly, cackling as he slips through the skeleton walls. 

He glances over his shoulder, but there’s no sign of the guard. Bitch, fucker, can’t even keep up with one scrawny kid, he should fucking retire! 

He leaps back through the window, he can see the shitty motel. 

And then massive fucking arms wrap around him. 

He screams like a fucking girl and he is  _ utterly justified _ . The bodyguard grunts as Tommy thrashes in his arms but the fucker may as well be made of  _ goddamn stone _ for all the good it does. 

“Shithead! Bitch! Let go!” Tommy throws his head back but all he manages to do is bang his head into the guy’s shoulder. He kicks his feet, trying to hit fucking _ anything _ . 

“Chill out,” the bodyguard says. 

“Let me go bitch!” 

“After all the shit I just went through to catch you? No thanks.” 

Tommy digs his nails into the guy’s arm but he doesn’t even fucking notice. “Mother _ fucker _ put me down!” 

“Again: no thanks. Just calm down, I’m literally just taking you back across the street.” 

“Fat fucking  _ chance!” _ Tommy snaps. His heart is pounding in his ears, he’s going to die. He’s going to fucking  _ die. _ They know who dad is, they probably think that they can use them to get him to come back. 

As if. The fucker just up and left. Good riddance to him. But now Tommy really wishes he were around so that  _ he _ could get fitted for some concrete shoes. 

They pass the traffic cones, they’re almost back to the motel. God damn it. God  _ fucking damn it _ . 

“Where’s your little friend?” The bodyguard asks casually. “Hiding somewhere?” 

“I’m not fucking telling you shit.” They round the corner, and there in the  _ fucking parking lot _ is goddamn  _ Tubbo _ . 

“Oh, found him.” 

“Tubbo what the  _ fuck _ ?!” 

Tubbo scrambles to his feet, “I tried!” he snaps, warily backing away as the bodyguard comes closer. He’s cornered in the parking lot though, there’s a high stone wall all around it. 

“You had one job!” Tommy shouts. 

“So did you!” Tubbo screams back. 

“Please can we just go back to the room now?” the bodyguard asks. He shifts his grip on Tommy, stuffing him under one arm. “Nobody’s dying or getting hurt. Just listen to what Phil has to say.” 

Tommy growls, trying to kick the guy from the new angle. It isn’t any better than the last one. He sinks his teeth into the guys arm, but the suit is too thick for him to draw blood. 

“That hurts,” the bodyguard says, monotone, “please stop.” 

Tubbo dances back, eyes darting around desperately, but there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. 

“Just once,” the bodyguard muses, “I’d like someone to choose to do things the easy way.” With a sigh, he sets off across the lot. 

Tubbo feints to his left and then tries to sprint past on his right, but the guy is faster than he fucking looks. He grabs Tubbo by the wrist. 

Tubbo screeches like a cat dunked in fucking water and starts punching at the guy’s shoulder. He barely seems to notice. He drags Tubbo along like a wayward toddler, marching them unrelentingly to their doom. 

He kicks at the bottom of the door and its opened by the guy in the green suit. Fucking  _ Phil _ . Tommy’s gonna claw that motherfucker’s eyes out the goddamn  _ second  _ he gets a chance. 

“Oh good, you found them,” Phil says, like they just got lost or some shit. Fucker. Bitch. Tommy snarls wordlessly. 

Phil steps aside, letting his errand bitch in and Tommy freezes. Wilbur is standing there. He’s fine, he’s not hurt he’s not dead. 

The bodyguard sets him down and shoves him a little. Tommy stumbles to Wilbur’s side, twisting his hand into Wilbur’s jacket. Tubbo’s shoulder is brushing his. Wilbur’s arms are around them both. 

“Its okay,” he’s murmuring, “I’m alright. Are you guys okay? Are you hurt?” He’s brushing his hands through their hair, looking into Tommy’s face. 

“I’m fine,” Tommy says, his voice is thick. He clears his throat and shoves the emotions away. They don’t have time for that shit. He turns around and Phil and the bitchguard are just  _ watching _ . Phil’s face has got a gooey little smile on it. 

What the  _ fuck _ . 

He’s sitting in the chair at the table, his bodyguard looming over his right shoulder. Wilbur’s gun is on the table next to him. Wilbur presses Tommy back behind him and they’re right back where they goddamn started. Only this time they don’t even have a fucking gun.


	8. Philza has Made the Advancement: [Step Into my Parlor]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I couldn’t just let you disappear,” Phil says, his tone apologetic, even though he doesn’t particularly feel it.  
>  He regrets the lengths that it came to, but he would do it again, he would go further, if it meant getting what he wanted. He is a driven man, he knows it and he accepts that sometimes people will be crushed under the wheels of his machinations.   
> The boys have gotten off lightly compared to some. He regrets that he has frightened them, but he has done them no real harm, and he intends to uphold that. They’ll see soon enough.   
> They may fear his hand now, but soon they will realize that it is extended in friendship. That it is gentle, to them, for them.   
> “I feel like you really could have,” Tubbo mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guuuuuysss we're almost at 1k kudos on this story holy shit fam. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying it!! I love all of your comments, I'm trying to get better about replying to them but that's mostly just good intentions at this point. I'm terrible at it but I do love each and every one! 
> 
> This chapter we finally get some more Phil POV! always fun, he's terrifying, I write him and he scares me. 0/10 would want to meet in real life. But he is So Much Fun to write, just wait til you guys get the side story I'm poking at, Phil dealing with a sick Tommy, because I want to make him suffer.

The boys are all huddled in their brother’s arms, practically hiding themselves in his coat. Its sweet. Like a mother bird protecting her chicks from the rain. 

For his part, their brother is giving Phil a look that would make lesser men tremble. Phil has met more dangerous men than him, but he’s willing to respect Wilbur for the sacrifices he’s made. The lengths he was willing to go. 

Phil knows how hard it is to kill your own father. 

The boys are looking at him now too. They’re both a little wet around the eyes, breathing a bit too fast. Phil’s heart twinges a bit, he would rather not have scared them so badly. They’re only young. 

He folds his hands in his lap, keeping them away from the gun he can see Tommy eyeing. He has to be careful here, not push them too far, not allow them to push him. He can see the calculations going by at the speed of light in Tubbo’s eyes. 

How to start this conversation?

They aren’t like Wilbur, not as hardened, he bets they won’t be quite as good at reading through the lines either. They weren’t raised in this world. 

Something mild, then. Something that wouldn’t make Wilbur intervene, but something that would put them at ease. An apology is always a good place to start. 

“I’m sorry,” three pairs of eyes snap to his own and narrow with suspicion. “I wish we could have done this in a more civilized way. Not exactly the best way to establish trust, is it?” 

Wilbur is glaring again. 

Tommy and Tubbo are exchanging a glance. Phil watches them carefully. He hasn’t gotten to see much of their interaction, now he will witness them planning out an assault of their own. 

Tommy turns back to him first, stepping just a little bit out of his brother’s shadow. “Trust?” he asks, incredulous, “civilized? You fucking--” Tubbo makes a tiny, near inaudible hum in his throat, and Tommy cuts himself off. 

Tommy is more vocal than Tubbo, but he’s also more impulsive. Tubbo is the one who keeps him grounded. 

“I couldn’t just let you disappear,” Phil says, his tone apologetic, even though he doesn’t particularly feel it.

He regrets the lengths that it came to, but he would do it again, he would go further, if it meant getting what he wanted. He is a driven man, he knows it and he accepts that sometimes people will be crushed under the wheels of his machinations. 

The boys have gotten off lightly compared to some. He regrets that he has frightened them, but he has done them no real harm, and he intends to uphold that. They’ll see soon enough. 

They may fear his hand now, but soon they will realize that it is extended in friendship. That it is gentle, to them, for them. 

“I feel like you really could have,” Tubbo mutters. Tommy snickers quietly, turning towards his friend, but Wilbur nudges the both of them, bringing their eyes back to Phil.

“You did have Techno’s idol,” Phil reminds them, their eyes flick over his shoulder and both of the boys shrink back just an inch. “And I was curious about you. Not many people have gotten around my security so thoroughly.” 

Wilbur’s lip twitches at the obvious attempt at stroking the boys egos. It is mostly a throw away attempt, Phil isn’t expecting them to fall for it. 

They don’t, Tommy snorts softly, rolling his eyes. Phil doesn’t think anyone has actually rolled their eyes at him since he was a child. He doesn’t like it now any more than he did then, but he’s willing to let it slide. 

“You also offered to work with me,” Phil says, catching their attention firmly. “I hope you’re still interested in that opportunity?” 

Wilbur’s teeth are gritted so hard Phil is afraid that he might crack one but he’s smart enough not to open his mouth. Tommy and Tubbo look at each other again. 

Its a long look this time, a whole argument held in facial expressions. Finally, Tommy turns to him and says very politely and calmly, “no thank you.” 

Interesting. 

Techno shifts behind him, but Phil waves a hand in his direction. The boys are watching him warily. “Alright,” Phil says, “that’s your decision. Can we help you get home at least?” 

Phil takes a moment to savor the stunned expressions on their faces. He can practically see the little buffering wheel. He imagines that he won’t be able to take them off guard like this much, not once they get used to him. 

“Just like that?” Tommy asks, “you chase us all the fucking way here and now you’re just going to...leave? Just fuck off right back to L’manberg. That’s it?” 

“We have the idol, I’ve gotten to meet you, and extend my offer.” Phil says, shrugging, “I  _ could _ try and force you to work for me, but that rarely goes well. I don’t want prisoners, I want assets.” 

“So you’ll just leave us alone?” Tubbo asks. 

“I might check in on you from time to time,” Phil confesses, “just to keep an eye on you, but yes.” 

Both boys look to Wilbur. 

“Can we even go back?” Wilbur asks, eyebrow quirked. “I seem to recall that I’ve been accused of kidnapping. Made it on the front page and everything.” 

Ah, yes. A bit of a misstep, but he hadn’t known that Wilbur was going to be worth investing in then. 

Easy enough to fix. He waves a hand through the air, as if brushing the concern aside, “you don’t really think that it would be difficult for me to fix that do you? I do have a bit of experience dealing with the media and with accusations of criminal activity.”

None of them look convinced. He’s gotten too used to dealing with people who don’t have two brain cells to rub together. “Let me prove my good intentions, I escalated this situation, let me fix it.” 

“Do we have any other choice?” Tubbo asks quietly, not to Phil, but to his brothers. They both look at him, clearly they aren’t ready to admit defeat, but Tubbo, it seems, is a pragmatist. 

Finally, Tommy looks away and Wilbur says: “fine.” 

Phil smiles, they’re on the hook now. All he has to do is reel them in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from another poem, The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt in which a spider tries to get a fly to come close enough to strike. Eventually, the spider manages to do so through flattery.


	9. Tubbo_ has Made the Advancement: [What Big Teeth You Have]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil sits on the couch across from him, but not directly across from him. A little to the side, less confrontational.   
> He’s decided Tubbo is his in, then.   
> This should be interesting. 
> 
> Tubbo’s gateway to his love of computers was his love of online chess. Learning the strategies, the moves, the rules. He loves a good game, this one is just going to be more high stakes than his usual ones. 
> 
> “Do you prefer Toby or Tubbo?” Phil asks, his head is tilted just a little bit. Baring a hint of his throat, his hands are turned, showing his palms a little.   
> Ooh, he’s pulling out all the stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is so sus of Phil and he's out here like :D this is going so well! This was a great plan :) A+, me.

“Well,” Phil says, “should we head out since you guys are already packed?” 

He says it like they hadn’t been throwing their shit frantically together in the vain hope that they could get out of this place without him finding them. Like they weren’t here because of him in the first place. 

Tubbo doesn’t say anything though, he just grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. They don’t really have many other options besides doing what Phil wants. Even if they  _ could _ get away, even if they  _ did _ make it Pogtopia, what is waiting for them there? 

A safehouse made by a drunken, washed up member of the mafia that hasn’t been visited by anyone in at least ten years. A constant struggle to keep under the radar, desperately scraping up whatever cash they can put together. 

Tommy is a visionary, but Tubbo is a pragmatist. Its why they work together so well, they balance each other. They have made this bed, now they have to lie down in it, despite the monsters that aren’t staying underneath. 

Phil is smiling at him, in a way that Tubbo thinks is meant to convey that he is harmless. It does not. No matter how many suits and smiles he wears, Tubbo doesn’t think Phil could look harmless. 

His bodyguard certainly doesn’t, not that he’s smiling. Tubbo doesn’t really have an eye for weapons, but he’s pretty sure the guy has one gun on his belt and another on his ankle. He doubts that those are the only weapons he’s carrying. 

“Do you guys want lunch?” Phil asks, standing and straightening his suit. He picks up Wilbur’s gun and all three of them freeze. Tommy shifts a bit in front of Tubbo and Wilbur is firmly in front of them both. 

Phil isn’t aiming it at them though, he’s not even holding it in a firing position like Wilbur had earlier. He’s offering it to Wilbur, barrel pointed at the floor, finger nowhere near the trigger. 

Maybe its meant to make them feel more confident, but it only enforces for Tubbo that Phil is certain that he has all of them firmly under control. Not that he’s wrong. 

“We can stop somewhere on the way to the airport, my plane will wait for us however long we need.” 

God he has a fucking private plane. Tubbo should have guessed that, really, but still. Ridiculous. They slept in a goddamn  _ van _ and Phil was flying in style. No wonder they got here so quickly. 

“Not hungry,” Tommy says, like a challenge. 

Phil shrugs easily, “we’ll get something later then, whatever you want I’m sure we can manage.” 

Ah, that’s what this is then. He’s trying to lure them in with his wealth. Its a good play, but it is one that Tubbo fully intends to turn against him. 

If he’s going to offer, why not accept it? Wring the guy for everything he’ll give them. 

“I’m hungry,” he pipes up, Tommy looks betrayed, like eating the guy’s food is a pledge of loyalty. 

Phil is smiling at him like it is, but Wilbur doesn’t look too worried, so Tubbo isn’t either. “What are you in the mood for? Steak? Seafood?” 

Tubbo shrugs, “just a burger is fine.” 

He’s sure it’ll be the fanciest fucking burger of his goddamn life but he’s not going to fuck around with rich people food. They eat  _ lobsters _ , they look like fucking under water bugs. 

“A burger then,” Phil says, “Wilbur?” 

Wilbur shrugs, he looks tired still. He’s always looked tired, granted, but now he looks exhausted. He’s trying to hide it but he’s not doing great. “Burgers works.” 

“Fine,” Tommy mutters mutinously. 

Phil smiles, and its a bit more honest this time. His honest smiles all seem to have a tinge of victory to them. He’s a man used to getting what he wants. 

“Let’s head out then.” 

They all trail behind him like a line of ducklings, first his body guard, then Wilbur, then Tommy, and Tubbo at the rear. Just the way he likes it. 

Tommy drops back a step, “you know he’s trying to bribe us,” he breathes. 

“Of course,” Tubbo replies, “but I say we get while the getting’s good.” 

Tommy laughs quietly, Tubbo can see him considering the possibilities. One of Tommy’s favorite things is to see just how far he can push things. 

“You can put your stuff in the trunk,” Phil says, motioning and his bodyguard hits the key fob. The door rises smoothly and one by one they deposit their bags into it. 

Its a pretty big trunk, for the size of the car. Could definitely fit a couple people in there. Tubbo shudders. 

He wonders if there were ways this went down where they didn’t end up riding in the back seat. Probably. 

There are back seats though, Tubbo didn’t think that was a thing in a lot of fancy cars, but this one has room for all three of them, so long as they don’t mind being squished together a bit. Which they don’t. 

“Sorry its cramped,” Phil says from the passenger seat, “there’ll be room to spread out on the plane. A limo was just a bit conspicuous.”

Right, of course the options are: Fancy sports car or Limo. No other possible vehicles out there. 

The car starts with what Tubbo supposes car people would refer to as a ‘purr’ but it just sounds like an engine to him. 

Its one of the more awkward car rides of Tubbo’s life, Phil keeps trying to set them at ease, but Wilbur isn’t engaging with him. Tommy is, naturally, pushing limits. Seeing how far he can go before someone stops him. 

Tubbo keeps an ear on the conversation, but Wilbur calls Tommy off long before Phil looks anything but amused and tolerant of his antics. They get to the airport not long after. 

Tubbo’s never actually been to an airport before, he’s pretty sure that you’re supposed to go through all sorts of security checks and magnetic sensors. They bypass all of that and the massive crowds waiting in endless lines. 

The plane itself is almost disgusting in its luxury. Sleek and modern, leather and rich carpets everywhere. A flatscreen on the wall, coffee table in the center of the ‘room’ that looks made out of some fancy wood or another. All of this so one guy and his bodyguard can get around. 

“Feel free to look around,” Phil says with a casual gesture as soon as they’re in the air. 

Tommy immediately starts poking his nose into shit, Wilbur hot on his tail, but Tubbo stays in his seat. If an armchair can be called a seat. 

He wants to curl his legs up in the chair but he’s also not going to risk scuffing  _ anything _ on this plane. He settles for crossing his legs instead. 

Phil sits on the couch across from him, but not directly across from him. A little to the side, less confrontational. 

He’s decided Tubbo is his in, then. 

This should be interesting. 

Tubbo’s gateway to his love of computers was his love of online chess. Learning the strategies, the moves, the rules. He loves a good game, this one is just going to be more high stakes than his usual ones. 

“Do you prefer Toby or Tubbo?” Phil asks, his head is tilted just a little bit. Baring a hint of his throat, his hands are turned, showing his palms a little. 

Ooh, he’s pulling out all the stops. 

It is weird to have a mafia boss who hunted him across the country call him  _ anything _ , but being called Toby by anyone is terrible. “Tubbo is fine.” 

Phil smiles, “Tubbo then. How old are you Tubbo?” 

Tubbo raises an eyebrow, “like you don’t already know.” 

“Caught me there. Just trying to make conversation. I’m sure this is all pretty intimidating.” 

‘Pretty intimidating’ more like outright terrifying, but sure. 

Phil leans forward a bit, elbows on his knees so that his head is a bit lower than Tubbo’s and looking up at him. “I’m sure you’re curious about stuff, ask away.”

Hm. Well, its as good a chance as any. 

“How did you find us?” 

Phil leans back, cupping his chin thoughtfully, “well, I’m sure you know that Sam tracked you at the library.” 

Tubbo nods. 

“He also figured out where Wilbur was going from there. Didn’t clear his search history.” 

Why is Tubbo the  _ only one _ capable of using a computer properly? 

“But even  _ we _ didn’t know we’d be stopping at the motel then,” Tuboo says. “It was a last minute thing because Wilbur was getting too tired.” 

Phil winces a bit, “yeah. He signed you guys in under his real name.” 

Tubbo closes his eyes, “surely not.” 

“I’m afraid so,” Phil says, there’s an amused smile in his voice. Prick. “He do all the driving?” 

Tubbo hums, he’s not going to tell Phil that Wilbur is a bit of a control freak when he’s keyed up. That’s not the kind of stuff that Phil needs to know. 

“Tired people make mistakes,” Phil says, “we’d have found you at the safehouse in Pogtopia either way, but when we got the news that you’d stopped at the motel.” he shrugs, “seemed a bit more efficient to just meet you there.” 

Meet them there, that’s a fun way to phrase it. Like they were friends or something, just catching up and reliving old times. 

Well, next time they go on the run,  _ Tubbo _ is going to be in charge of anything to do with computers. If they even  _ think _ about a computer Tubbo will be involved. Can’t trust these people with anything. 

“How’d you end up with that van?” Phil asks, “Its not Wilbur’s.” 

“We stole it.” 

Phil looks at him expectantly. Its story time, apparently. Tubbo glances at the others, has Tommy found something to piss off the body guard yet?

Surely they’re going to get tired of wandering around the plane. There’s only so much shit in here. 

He holds back a sigh. 

He has to do everything around here. 

“Wilbur ditched his car after he found the article. They described his car and stuff so we couldn’t keep using it.” Learning how to break into and hotwire a car in the late evening hours had been fun. 

Unfortunately those techniques hadn’t worked on Phil’s car or maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation. Fucking electronic security. 

“That was his first car,” Tubbo says, just because Phil is still trying ot get into his good books, he may as well be useful about it. “He loved that thing.” 

“Maybe we’ll get it back for him,” Phil says, just like Tubbo expected him to. 

Tubbo loves looking so young and innocent, people let him get away with so much shit. He keeps the smile off of his face. 

Whatever moves Phil might have made next are interrupted by a chirp from his phone. He pulls it out of his pocket frowning at whatever is on the screen. “Just a minute yeah?” 

Tubbo shrugs, looking out the window.

The world looks so small from this high up, his eyes trace over the line of a road, twisting through fields and towns. 

“Sam?” Phil says behind him, and suddenly the scenery is far less interesting. 

Tommy must hear it too because he gives up on trying to pry open what Tubbo is pretty sure is something decorative--he’s been looking for a hidden safe the past ten minutes--and commandeers half of Tubbo’s chair. 

He doesn’t spare a thought for scuffing the upholstery, planting his back against one arm and letting his legs flop over Tubbo’s lap and dangle over the other arm. 

“We found them, they’re safe” Phil says. His voice is reassuring. Nicer than Tubbo would have expected from the ruthless head of the mafia talking to his subordinate. 

He kind of thought--hoped--that Phil would be upset with Sam. That maybe there would be some tension between them. Maybe from Sam not being happy to hunt them down. 

Seems like they’re getting along great though. That’s fine, that’s good. 

Tubbo looks back out the window. Tommy shifts--maybe if he’d sat in his  _ own chair _ he would be more comfortable. Tubbo is glad to have him this close though. 

“Yeah,” Phil says, “uh-huh. I’ll tell him. You want to talk to him yourself mate?” 

Tubbo glances over and Phil is looking directly at him. Shit. 

“No he’s right here. You want to talk to Sam, Tubbo?” 

Does he? 

No, but also yes. He doesn’t want to hear what Sam has to say, he doesn’t want to hear his voice being all sorry and sad. Or worse, without a hint of regret in it. 

But at the same time he  _ needs _ to know which it would sound like. 

“No way,” Tommy says before he can answer, “we’re not talking to that traitor.” 

Phil is still looking at him, waiting for an answer. Tubbo looks away. 

“Maybe another time then,” Phil says, putting the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, that was Tommy. I’ll talk to them Sam, don’t worry. See you on the ground.” 

Wilbur’s brother senses must be tingling at that because he’s making his way towards them again. He nudges Tommy, “get in your own chair.” 

“I’m in my chair, Tubbo just got in it first,” Tommy argues. 

“If I was here first then its mine.” 

“Not if I kick you out of it.” 

“Not if I kick  _ you _ out of it.” 

“Boys.” Wilbur snaps. 

They stop shoving each other. 

Phil’s bodyguard is standing behind him again. Phil is watching them with an amused smile. Tubbo wonders if he realizes how fucking creepy that is.

“Sam didn’t want to betray you,” he says, “he only told us about you because he knew we wouldn’t hurt you.” 

Tommy stiffens, “he work for you for a while then?” 

“Years.” 

He’s worked for Phil longer than Tubbo’s known him then. 

“He didn’t even give you up at first,” the bodyguard--what was his fucking name, Techno or something?--rumbles. 

Phil nods, “I know you may not be happy with the choices he made, but he just wanted you boys safe. Like we all do.” 

“Weird way of showing it,” Tommy mutters. Tubbo knows that Phil hears it, but apparently he’s choosing not to comment on it. 

“We’ll be landing in another hour or so,” Phil says, apparently they’re done with that topic. “I believe I promised you guys some burgers.” 

Tubbo was right, it is the fanciest burger he’s ever seen in his life. It tastes like ash in his mouth all the same. 


End file.
